East of the Sun
by Underthedesk
Summary: AU. Dean & Sam star in a cable real estate/renovation show called "Family Business" for a homophobic cable network. Cable reality show fame could be a sweet gig, if you came by it honestly... But when Dean meets their new client's brother he knows his cold war with the network is about to become a hot zone. (COMPLETE)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Dean shut the door roughly behind him, more than a little worse for wear. Pamela had been a good sport about the whole thing. Honestly, better than he'd expected. If the network asswipes wanted to put them in a long-term fake relationship that'd be fine by him. She beat the aspirational cheerleader types by a country mile.

He opened his fridge more from muscle memory than an actual desire for beer. Shit, what did he have to complain about, really? A job that pays beyond what even the best construction guys could ever hope to ask for, the chance to work with his much-less-annoying-since-he-sobered-up brother, and the occasional contractual requirement that he appear at network events with a woman on his arm. As he wasn't rocking either end of the Kinsey scale exclusively this was more of a headache than a source of shame.

Cable reality-show fame was a good gig, if you came by it honestly. (Or mostly honestly, in Dean's case.) The network loved his pretty face, true, but if he was trying to rock a fussy baby back to sleep or just throwing back a microwave dinner after a long day at some soul sucking office job, he'd probably want the guy talking to him about drywall to be sexy too. Hell, he took it as a point of pride that somewhere in the world a few people probably thought of him while rubbing one out. As for his construction skills, so what if the network wouldn't know a load-bearing wall from an accent wall? He knew he had 'em. Earned them over a long decade of trying to look out for himself and his kid brother. If the universe decided to repay him by having him work less hard for more money, and threw in some pretty awesome fans to boot, there really wasn't much to complain about.

_Mostly honestly…_ There was that.

It wasn't that HOME and its CEO Sir Alexander Baumgarten were against gay people, per se. He knew this because Zachariah had told him so, in exactly those words, as if schooled to say so by some PR hack.

The PR hack probably hadn't approved Ol' Zach's choice of follow up: "After all, they do know a lot about interior design!" That was the moment Dean knew he was in trouble. Not because he liked men but because he really liked punching arrogant douches like Zachariah in the face. By the time the conversation moved on to who he could and could not be seen with in public he'd stopped listening.

_Every job has one._ This had become his mantra. If they made it to season four without someone winding up in the ER he would officially start believing in mantras.

Dean grabbed one of the non-alcoholic beers he kept around for Sam and kicked off his shoes by the door. He had a 'no shoes indoors' kinda house now. How weird was that? It was only 10:30 so he crashed on the couch and played an episode of Doctor Sexy from his DVR. The network event had been one of those reality specials announcing the winner of a new tv hosting gig. They wanted to air it live, so that meant starting the 'party' at 5:00 for the East Coast viewers. The live event had the usual lack of spontaneity endemic to his network, so safe, so calm, so family fucking friendly. Or so his producer Zachariah kept reminding him when he stressed the necessity of Dean showing up with a woman, and a network approved one at that.

Still, the host of the new cooking show 'Girl on Grill Action' had proven to be a real kick in the ass. They'd whispered sarcastic jokes to each other through bland smiles like the kids in the class you mother never wanted you to sit near. Which, of course, they were.

She'd invited him back to her place after the party wound up at the almost unheard of hour of 8:00 (probably so the corporate suits wouldn't miss their bed time). At first he'd flushed a little, worried he'd have to find a way to explain this mess to someone he'd just been making dick jokes with. Thankfully, she'd just laughed and said she 'knew the drill.' But she'd just bought a Five Magic Diamond grill with the money from her signing bonus and had been desperate for the chance to show it off, a humblebrag without the humble.

They got drunk by her fire pit and got quiet talking about the winner. He was clearly gay as the day is long, and was therefore about to go from one of the greatest nights of his life to one of the most uncomfortable business meetings ever in the morning. "Maybe they'll be nice. Maybe they won't schedule it 'til the afternoon," was about as hopeful as Pamela could be about the situation. Dean wondered if they could make a drinking game out of the number of times ol' Zach talked to them about 'image' and their 'friendly relations with the gay community.' Like it was a fucking cold-war era détente.

They drank in silence for a while after that. He didn't know if she was full on dyke or just couldn't deny that boobs are awesome, but he decided not to pry. He knew enough. No one got 'the talk' by mistake (except for Sam, which had been kinda hilarious).

Still, he had a good job, a sober, if annoying, real-estate genius for a sibling, about a dozen very polite fans, and now a new ally in his private war against the network's encroachment on his not-so-heteronormative lifestyle. After what he and Sam had been through, he'd take it. For Sam's sake, at least.

He pounded through the near beer fast. He couldn't shake the way the new kid had looked at him when they met at the world's least lively party. There were cameras all over the place, but still he'd looked at Dean as if meeting his personal hero. Dean clocked what was happening and swept the guy up in a bear hug to keep him from saying anything untoward on live television. 'Untoward' was a Zachariah word. The cameras ate it up, of course, and everyone relaxed again. He knew he'd feel like shit if he let the poor dude lose his dream job after only having it for half an hour.

_Especially if he lost it for liking you. And for being too dumb to know you could lose everything for it._

He set up the DVR to record Pamela's show and decided to call it just another day in cable tv paradise.

***~***

The black Impala came to a stop at a busy intersection in North Hollywood. Dean was waiting on a chance to make a left turn and knew during rush hour that meant he had at least a few minutes to kill, just as he knew that in L.A. 7:00 a.m. was full-on rush hour. He pulled out his travel mug of gas station coffee and looked over the profile for the new client.

Based here in LA – in the Valley, which technically counts. Thank you, God.

Dean didn't mind that their work took him and his brother (and their production team) all over the country on a regular basis. It was a good feeling to get out on the road and help people. One of the shots from their first season that wound up in their opening credits was Dean hanging out the window of his iconic Impala while Sam drove and Dean howled like a dog. The fans had loved that one, and he loved them for it, for digging his crazier side that usually drove his family nuts.

But when he was on the road he had a much more strict set of social parameters to live by. After all, if someone saw him eating dinner at the Abbey with his brother in WeHo it would result in a net total of nothing. Say what you want about Los Angelenos but unless you are paparazzi-worthy the locals are studied in the art of not giving a damn. He could hook up with a guy in the men's room and as long as he didn't drive drunk afterwards no one would care.

But in the towns less used to seeing tv personalities anywhere but on television he was a temporary celebrity. This had a lot of perks: the smiles, the 'hey you gotta take a picture with my brother' moments, the time a nun cornered him in a supermarket in Duluth to get the inside scoop on good insulation options for her convent… All good stuff. But even C-list celebs (the C stands for cable) can wind up on Twitter if spotted on a date with a dude in a smaller town. And from Twitter it's a fast track to… to those shows and websites Dean's never sure of the names of, but knows are out there all the same.

The Impala pulled to a stop on a quiet road. It was one of those huge houses above Glenoaks that look modest from the front but then just kept going. This is assuming you graded modest on the Los Angeles curve, which was more like a 90 degree angle compared to most of the world.

Becky-the-PA was standing, clipboard in arm, coffee in hand, at the curb. "Good morning!" She checked she had the cup marked 'Dean' before handing it over.

"Becky-the-PA, you're a sight for sore eyes." She'd accepted her nickname with grace, he had to give her that. There were worse hazing rituals in this town.

"Or at least uncaffeinated ones. Sam with you?"

He took a sip, careful not to burn his tongue. Black, no frou-frou flavors. "No. So no sightings of Bigfoot yet, I take it?"

She picked up the coffee marked Sam and retook her vigil, scanning the road. "No. But his phone isn't going straight to voicemail anymore."

"So he's in the car. What's in the cup?"

She smiled, aware of the test and of the correct answer. "Two espressos, with a little room-temp water thrown in so he doesn't burn his tongue."

Dean rewarded her with a grin. "You're getting good at this. Pretty soon we'll have to change your name to Becky the Awesome." He went out of his way to be friendly with the PAs, they got shit pay for a shit job. (Still, some of them were real doozies. It was at times like this he wondered what the yahoos who kept trying to pitch him a show about ghost-hunting were up to.) It was due to his known respect for the PAs that they often got the shittiest job of all. "Any notes from the network."

"Not today, but I have a small one. Is that okay?"

This was new. "Shoot. Just remember if we don't like it we might fire you."

She flushed, scared. Or overheated. "It's just… well… You haven't mentioned your dad in, like, four episodes now."

Dean winced on the inside. His relationship with his dad had been messy, at best. Still, he respected everything the man had taught him and was honest with the audience when something came from him. It was nothing much, just a little 'one trick my dad taught me is…' It wasn't a lie and he wasn't ashamed to admit he'd needed to be taught what he knew. There was nothing more lame than a construction worker acting like he was freakin' Criss Angel or something.

The show wasn't called 'Family Business' for nothing.

"I never figured you for someone who'd like all that personal drama."

Becky looked at him like she wasn't sure how those two thoughts could possibly connect. "I don't but… This isn't a show about houses. It's about families. If it were just about houses…"

"No chicks would watch?"

"It wouldn't be special. It's you guys that make it special."

"Yeah, well…" Dean flushed a bit and made a note to not call her Becky the PA anymore.

"Chuck would appreciate it too."

Chuck. The writer. "You tell him to give me his own damn notes."

Becky pulled her jacket off and tied it around her waist. 7:30 in the morning and it was already heating up out here. "He's afraid of you and he says he's pretty sure you won't hit a girl."

"By that logic he should be fine."

Becky laughed. When you could make a PA laugh this early in the morning with one of their stars missing it was a real victory.

Dean enjoyed it. "So where is Shakespeare, anyway?"

"In back, discussing the pool situation with the owner."

"Ah yes, Gabriel. Sounds like a real angel."

Becky gave him a look.

"What?"

"Nothing. You'll see."

That sounded ominous. With that in his ears he made his way back around the house in search of the pool.

The house went on forever so he had a bit of trek on his hands. Gravel beside the driveway crunched under his feet. The sun was up, but not yet angry about all the hours wasted in the day. It fell soft on his face, just warm enough to melt the scents of the nearby lemon trees into the air. Birds sang here. He'd almost forgotten when you got up this early, this far up in the mountains, you could hear a cacophony of bird songs. They gave Dean the impression he'd stumbled into their refuge.

That's when he saw him.

The man in question sat on the cement step under a side door, his legs curled near up to his chest by the small seat. The soft sunlight of daybreak fell on his face like a spotlight; the blue t-shirt and jeans did nothing to hide the form underneath, all lithe sinew and bone, like he habitually forgot to eat and had to be reminded to dress, his mind on another plane of existence.

His black hair was unkempt but not quite wild, reigning in its natural chaos as if out of respect. A backpack large enough to hide a body sat propped beside him, stuffed to burst. Plastic bags and cloth sacks cluttered the space around him, the international symbol of the refugee, the diaspora. A prince far from his throne.

He looked up from the book he was reading – Blues Legacies and Black Feminism – and stared at Dean as if examining a specimen of alien life. Dean had felt this stare before, it wasn't unusual when you're on television for a living, but somehow Dean got the feeling that wasn't why he was receiving it. It certainly wasn't why he was giving it right back, complete with shallow breaths, afraid to disturb the air. No, for Dean it was those eyes…

"Dean!"

He turned to the familiar tone of Chuck's voice on instinct, all too aware a spell had been broken. _Act normal. Act family fucking friendly_ he coached himself. His inner voice sounded a lot like Zachariah. Knowing it was rude as all hell he walked off, not trusting himself to look back. To look back could not possibly lead anywhere 'family friendly.' "Yeah?"

Chuck rushed to him. Dean was relieved to see it wasn't to splash cold water on his face and tell him to snap out of it. "We have a problem."

"Already?"

"It's the pool."

Dean could feel the last tendrils of the spell breaking away under the weight of workday concerns. Though he knew without looking if he turned back the prince's eyes would still be on him. (Or maybe he just hoped they would be.)

Just like their client's were now. "I see you've met my brother."

Chuck rounded at that. "Yeah, about that. We haven't vetted this guy, Gabriel. If your brother lives here he's going to be part of the show. Why didn't you tell us in advance?"

Dean's tolerance for the network messing with his life had a side effect: zero tolerance for it messing with anyone else's. "Does it look like either of them had any advance warning on this? The guy's got his shit in Bed, Bath & Beyond bags, for crying out loud."

Dean and Gabriel shared a look that could only be shared between those in the club, the 'my family drama involves actual drama' club. Their new client wore an outfit that screamed 'douche' and 'Eurotrash' is alternating succession, but Dean decided he had his back… at least on this.

"This is a family show, Chuck. If that's his brother, that's his family. Period."

"Cas," Gabriel added, almost under his breath. Dean got the impression he was testing how interested Dean was in acquiring this knowledge. "His name is Castiel. Everyone calls him Cas. Just like they call me Gabe."

"Castiel." Yeah, that sounded about right for him. "Your family has a real angel motif going, huh?"

Gabe at least had the self-awareness to chuckle at that. "Some of us more than others. I'm impressed. Most people don't know the angel of Thursday."

"I didn't either. But the –iel at the end is a bit of a giveaway."

Gabe raised his beer in tribute. Beer. At 7:30 in the morning. Interesting.

Chuck sighed – the world's most put upon non-writer. It's not that reality shows like theirs weren't written, exactly. Their technical explanations did have to be run through brevity and clarity filters at times. More importantly, the episodes had to be shaped. Chuck always liked to ask 'what's the narrative for this episode?' He needed a distraction, fast.

"So what's wrong with the pool? Dirty? Broken?"

Gabe's little chest puffed up. "Certainly not!"

"See for yourself." Chuck gestured to the backyard.

Dean stepped through a gate and stopped, awestruck. The pool consisted of two circular swimming areas, and where they meet was a long, wide diving board.

"So which way is the dick aimed? Cock and balls or anal sex?"

Chuck blanched and stormed off muttering something about a headache, which is good because if he'd stayed any longer he might've made some waspish attempt to punch somebody.

Gabe grinned, happy to see his design appreciated. "Both are valid. I like to think of it as a Rorschach test, myself."

Dean tried to look like he'd seen this all before as he sipped his coffee and considered the problem the cameramen were going to have with this.

If nothing else, this job was going to be good for a laugh.

***~***

_"So what are we looking at, Sammy? This house looks in pretty good shape."_

_"First, don't call me Sammy. Second, that can present its own problems. Now most people would love to have the problem of selling the best house on the street, but you have to remember with quality comes cost."_

_"So there's a chance everyone on the market is going to under-cut them?"_

_"Exactly, or that the special features they've added will be a turn off to their potential buyers. Not everyone wants the upkeep on a hot tub, and families with young children may shy away from properties with an in-ground pool. They may have to sell at less than the house is worth."_

_"Well, I'll do my best to make sure they don't have to."_

A long quiet moment passed on the Valley street. Dean could just make out the call of more birdsong.

"AND CUT!"

***~***

"Family Business" was about building and selling. Dean's crew worked with the client about what they'd like to change about their house and Sam took them around to other houses they may want to trade theirs in for, as well as getting them up to speed on what their potential competition would be if they decided to sell. Sammy had to wear a suit (which the freak just loved, anyway) and Dean was under orders to never appear in anything other than jeans and tees or flannel. This was just another way the show conformed to their lives as much as they conformed their lives to it.

Of course, like with any other construction job, Dean had to be at his client's beck and call. And Gabe loved to call. _"Can we make just one half of the pool into a hot tub?" "How much would it cost to turn the basement into a dance club?"_ Followed quickly by _"If every Joe in the Midwest can have a bar in his basement I don't see why I can't have a chill-out lounge!"_ Dean hadn't really been able to think of a comeback to that, plus it nearly made Chuck swoon with woe-is-me stress, so that was a plus.

The one that the show was most enthusiastic about was updating the guest bathroom. It was nice already, but, as Gabe put it, "Now that someone I care about has moved into the guest bedroom, I don't want to go with the crap that's in there now." This prompted someone – okay, Dean – to ask if he didn't care about his previous guests. To which Gabe had replied, on camera, "No way! If you wanted to visit me you could stay in in a hotel or pass-out drunk in a pool of your own vomit on the floor like a respectable person!"

This was the part where they introduced Castiel on camera. He looked like the world's most polite deer caught in some very bright high beams. He offered a quiet 'Hello' and a small wave to the camera before getting as far away from the business as possible. He no longer gave the impression of a dethroned prince – Dean supposed the usual mask he wore in daily life had been packed away in his bags that morning. But having seen him once without it, Dean could never *not* see the wayward royalty in him. Once you'd seen Clark Kent without his glasses the secret identity wasn't so secret anymore.

In the long run, Castiel's arrival had actually solved a problem. As reasons to renovate or move go, people could relate to having a family member move in much more than 'cause I'm bored' which is what Gabe was originally going with. As Chuck would say, it made a nice narrative.

Which is why Dean was now Gabe's bitch, driving out to see him at 11:00 at night to listen to his latest brain wave. Privately, he thought if Gabe's brain ever did wave it would be to wave goodbye, but the idea of hanging out in that house at night, maybe with a drink or two, offered some enticement.

Castiel. Yeah, that crush was going nowhere on a rocket sled.

Dean wasn't much of a 'crush' guy. He either liked you or not, and you were either into it or you weren't. Life was short and people had different tastes, no sense getting hung up on things.

Still… Dean had said maybe ten words to Cas since that morning, all of them on the job, none of them 'do you want to go get drunk and fuck like rabbits?' which is just about what he thought he could say, or even 'Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but you've got me thinking in pop song lyrics, so either go out with me or just put me out of my misery and shoot me or something' which was closer to the truth.

All this for someone who could be straight as far as he knew. Or celibate. Considering that 'your Earth ways confuse me' vibe he gave off when they met Dean had no idea how to classify him. Though he couldn't shake the feeling he knew Cas from somewhere…

That was why Dean knew when he saw the name come up on his phone he'd take the call, even if he wanted to kick himself for it. That was why he now crunched up the gravel path he'd come to know fairly well during the last week.

He knew from the moment he saw the look on Gabe's face as he opened the door that he'd stepped into a trap.

"Dude, you came! You'll never believe it – I have twins tonight! Seriously, honest to God twins!"

Dean hid his fist in the pocket of his leather jacket. "Identical or fraternal?"

"Infernal, I'm hoping." Gabe snickered at that, drunk enough to think it was hilarious.

"So what's the brainwave?"

"The what?"

"The big idea? The reason you got me out here at 11:30 at night?"

Gabe stepped outside and shut the door behind him. "Ah, right, that. Yeah, that was what we like to call a 'pretext.' I really just need you to go pick up my brother at his new job. His shift ends in an hour."

Dean breathed deep and reminded himself violence is not 'family friendly.' "You called me all the way out there for that?"

Gabe grinned. "Of course not! Also for this."

And with that, Dean felt himself pushed back against the wall of the house.

"What exactly are your intentions toward my brother?"

_Intentions?_ "Intentions?"

Gabe gave him a look that could melt iron with shame. "Dude. I've seen how you look at him. My brother Castiel has a terrible habit of inspiring in people one of two instincts: protection or possession. You can guess which camp I fall in."

Dean couldn't believe the little guy got the drop on him so fast. Thank God this was happening off camera. "Okay, first, any part of you still touching me in five seconds be prepared to lose. I have all the equipment I need to dispose of a body in my trunk and I don't think many people would miss you."

Gabe thought about this and let Dean off the hook. "I acknowledge both those points."

Dean breathed deeply again. He could've taken the guy, but he really didn't want to deal with this right now. And something about Gabe clearly said 'hair puller.' "And second, you tell me what my intentions should be. For all I know he just got out of a monastery."

Gabe gave him a look that, for him, was probably as close as he got to impressed. "You're not far off. It's not my place to tell tales, but assume he just crash landed from a very asexual planet."

This felt far too close to gossip for Dean's taste. "Look, I don't know your brother-"

"But you'd like to."

Dean let out a breath at that. "Yeah. I'd like to." Hell, at this point even if Cas spent the whole time discussing My Little Pony at least Dean would regain the ability to focus on his job.

He left it at that, but somehow it was enough. Gabe grinned. "Perfect! Talk to him on the drive home tonight. Here's the address." He shoved a business card into Dean's hand.

Dean stared at it like someone just handed him a list of winning lotto numbers. "Why do you trust me with this?"

Gabe smiled, buzzed at the opportunity to show off his logic, or just plain buzzed. "One, I am drunk-drunk. Two, Castiel has even fewer friends in this town than I do, and I wouldn't trust him with my friends for a second. Three, I can tell already which instinct you have for him. You wouldn't be here if I couldn't. And most importantly of all…" He leaned in close.

"Seriously… Twins."

***~***

Dean was so… something about all this he was in the car and driving before he stopped to look at the card. (He told himself he was angry Gabe was handing off a family duty like this, but anger didn't usually involve this level of nervousness.)

_Really?_ The guy got his crash-landed-from-planet-asexual brother a job at Micky's? "Gabe, you petulant child…" If the thought of Castiel standing alone and forgotten in WeHo hadn't been on his mind Dean would've turned the car around and punched Gabe in the face on general principle.

Micky's wasn't just a gay bar. The Abbey was a gay bar – a bar with good food and a dance floor and everyone was welcome as long as you tipped and had a good time. Micky's was a hot men looking for other hot men while drinking something that ended in –tini bar. Dean knew this because he been there a few times with friends, but he'd never contemplated going back on his own. It wasn't a bad place if you were into that kind of scene – hell, if you were it was probably heaven – but Dean liked a bar where you could shoot whiskey and have long, lingering eye contact with somebody. Micky's was for guys who wanted to dance, to move… if rave was a verb, it was a place to rave.

Plus, Dean usually liked to keep his options open for the evening. Guys, girls… Plenty of places in town were 'come one, come all' and he liked that vibe. His few forays to Micky's made him worry there would be some kind of Kinsey scale at the door, like the old height requirements at amusement parks. _'You must be at least this gay to enjoy the ride.'_

Castiel was standing out under a street light when Dean pulled his car up to the curb. Before Dean even stepped out he saw Cas notice it and a small thrill ran through him. Cas cared enough to recognize his car. It wasn't much but he could work with that.

He gave a wave, just in case. The noise of the club was spilling out into the street, so much so he had to shout to be heard. "Hey! Your brother's a douchebag!"

He realized about a second late that might've been a tactical error on his part, but Cas just smiled. It was the first Dean had seen him smile and what with the streetlight spilling down over him… _Oh, man. So unfair._ This was followed quickly by _Please don't be asexual. Even if you're straight, give somebody a chance._

"I take it you're my ride?"

_Man, that voice…_ If Castiel's voice wasn't illegal in at least thirty-eight states than Dean would lose all faith in the rule of law.

Dean gave an awkward bow. "I can take you anywhere you want in the City of Angels… as long as you want to go back to your brother's place. If I don't, I think he knows people." Dean pantomimed getting his throat slit and was rewarded with a laugh.

"You may be right about that."

With that, Cas joined him in the car.

***~***

Cas looked around the car. He could practically hear Gabe's voice in his ear _'Don't say I never do nothin' for you!'_ Castiel was in no danger of that, especially after the events of the last week. But still, even for Gabe this was… forward.

It's not like he'd even told his brother the impression the other man had made on him that morning. Still, since when did he have to tell anyone anything?

Something in Castiel always made him the last to understand. The last to follow a look, to get a joke... He was always a step behind his brothers. He assumed this wasn't unusual for a youngest child, but age had not withered his problem as he'd once expected. He had remained 'Castiel the oblivious,' last to put together even his own emotions.

And hadn't that caused him enough problems already? Now this.

He shifted in his seat. "I apologize for the other day. I can just imagine how strange it must have seemed."

If Dean had been annoyed at how Castiel fell out of the blue and landed in his work site, he kept it to himself. "No worries. I've had to move on short notice a few times myself. It is what it is."

They traveled in silence for a while after that. Dean kept his eyes on the road. "How's Micky's?"

Castiel felt a blush creep into his cheeks. "It's exactly what my brother intended it to be. Is there such a thing as 'immersion therapy?'"

Dean seemed to think about this. "I don't know. I suppose if there's aversion therapy there should be an opposite. Don't know if that's what it's called. Is that what this job is?"

"I think it might be. That or shock therapy. Of course there's always a chance he didn't have any friends other than Ellen in a position to grant a temporary job on short notice."

"Temporary? Leaving us so soon, Cas?"

Cas looked out at the dark night. How odd to think in the mountains of a city like Los Angeles there were still wild patches, dark as pitch at night. "I have no idea." And for the first time in his life, he really didn't.

"So what's your story?"

Cas looked down at his hands. "Would you like the long version or the brief one?"

"Traffic's pretty light. I guess we should stick to the short one for now."

_For now._ Castiel absently scratched at a point on his forehead that didn't itch. _Is that supposed to mean something? And exactly how awkward is this for him?_ He hated to think he carried his off-kilter world with him wherever he went, but his presence did seem to disrupt things lately. Gabe, the show, his mother's funeral…

He felt like a Picasso painting of a human being: Recognizable, but only just.

"My mother died two weeks ago."

Dean took his eyes off the road for that. "Man, I'm sorry. I mean, I'm sorry for your loss."

Castiel grinned in response to his nervousness. He wondered at how odd a pair they made, a man so used to being himself he had to double back to speak the reflexive words others spoke by rote trapped in a car with someone who clearly never got a copy of the script in the first place.

"Thank you. She'd been in the hospital. It wasn't unexpected, I suppose. But she had been improving just before it happened. So it was, in a way."

"Yeah, it always is." Dean offered. "Even when it's expected, I don't think anyone really wraps their head around it until they have to."

Castiel thought about that. "You're very intuitive." He looked at his driver for a beat too long, then put together his error over another long beat before looking away. _Always a step off from normal. This must be uncomfortable for him._ "Thank you for doing this. I appreciate that my brother is… difficult."

Dean locked eyes with him a moment over that. "That's not your fault."

"Still, if there's anything I can do… I could buy you a few gallons of gas, perhaps…"

Dean just grinned as he turned the car up towards Magnolia. He'd taken a scenic route, all twists and turns over one of the hillsides nature divided the city with. This was a place where electricity reached but did not saturate. It was a central part of the city but for all that the outside was still rugged and dark. It had been miles since Castiel had last scene a street lamp that worked. In the battle between nature and civilization the front lines of Los Angeles were jagged. It made it hard to tell which side you were on.

"I said don't worry about it. I'll just bill your brother."

Castiel laughed. It was a quiet sound. "I think he'd appreciate that. He's not a bully, really. But his idea of normal interactions between people is, I suspect, a little off."

The messy street beneath them had morphed into the gridlines of NoHo, aka NoHope. Somehow the washed out strip mall parking lots laid bare under fluorescent lights seemed more harsh than the darkness before.

"You suspect?"

Castiel looked out the window. He was certain they'd passed at least three donut shops already. Strange. "I'm afraid I've never had much time before this to observe him in the wild, so to speak."

"Well, take good notes. Science will appreciate it someday."

With that Dean shot him a small half-grin at and Cas felt himself relax a bit.

"Is that the reason you live with Gabe now? Your mother?"

Castiel could feel his hand move to scratch the phantom itch on his forehead again.

Dean apparently picked up on the nervous movement. "Dude, you can tell me to back off anytime. Feel free."

Free. Is that what he was now? "No, it's no problem. Yes. That was the catalyst."

Castiel didn't add anything further and, to his credit, Dean didn't ask. Cas counted a total of six donut places by the time they turned down his brother's street. What would his coaches have said?

Castiel pulled a ten from the store of tips in his pocket as the car pulled up to a stop. He held it out, obvious, before Dean could protest. Castiel had a vague awareness that there was a subtle way to do these things, just as he was aware he was a subtlety-free zone where the more nuanced social graces were concerned. "Take this, please. I'd consider it a favor, Dean."

Dean stared at him the same way he did the morning they met, unsure what he was looking at. Castiel blessed the dark inside the car that kept his reddening cheeks from being more obvious.

His driver suddenly took the money as if remembering something, perhaps that he was expected to give a response. "Thanks, but I'm just holding this for you, okay? One day I'll use it to buy us some coffee and you can give me the long story."

Castiel could feel his head tip to the side at that. "Oh. Okay."

Dean stuffed it into his pocket. "And I'm still invoicing your brother."

Castiel felt himself laugh again. Since the funeral that was probably a record. "That's between you and him, Dean."

"Damn right it is."

Castiel got out of the car and walked up the door. Before opening it with the key his brother had made for him (and attached to a Playboy bunny keychain, naturally), Castiel looked up at the glass in the door, and through its reflection to the street behind him.

Sure enough, the Impala was still there, engine running.

Dean was checking he got in okay.

The thought should've made no impression at all in his mind, less note-worthy even than the number of donut shops on the route home from work.

Of course, that wasn't what happened. But Castiel consoled himself with the thought he at least knew what 'real' people did and didn't think in these situations. Maybe after some years in the world he'd blend in with them, pass as the sort of person who'd never needed extra time to discipline his thoughts or follow the myriad unspoken interactions of normal life as lived by normal people. He could be surrounded by the endless home base of being un-unusual. It was possible. Anything was possible, even for a recovering Picasso portrait.

Still, Castiel doubted it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

For the next week Dean kept his schedule open. He never really hit the town while on a job anyway, save for the cross country jobs where he made it his business to sample pie at every local diner they stopped near. You had to have something to look forward to on the road and it was a holdover from when his dad took him and Sam all over the country looking for construction work. Sam lived for the libraries. For Dean, it was greasy-spoon diners and pie.

Still, he checked his phone was on more often than ever. Each night he pulled it out a couple times to make sure it hadn't accidentally set itself to airplane mode (like he was ever going to use *that* feature for its intended purpose).

After five nights he got the text he'd been waiting for.

HIS SHIFT ENDS AT 12:30. DON'T DO ANYTHING I WOULDN'T DO!

As grateful as he was, Dean couldn't help but text back _Only douchebags type in caps. _

MY NAME IS FUCKING GABRIEL. I DON'T SAY SHIT, I PRONOUNCE IT FROM ON HIGH! IT'S MY DESTINY.

_Whatever. Douche. _

There was no pretense this time, no twins, though Dean wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out Gabe was drunk again (but with a personality like his, how could anyone tell?). Sans pretext, Dean decided to assume Gabe really was giving him some sort of green light. Though if he was wrong, Dean knew Gabe could bury him in his backyard and probably use the production team's own equipment to do it.

Dean really hoped he wasn't wrong.

He pulled up to the club freshly showered and wearing an aftershave his last girlfriend had bought him that he'd thought smelled better than most. He was just checking his hair in the mirror (and feeling like a total girl about it, but better that than find out he'd had shitty hair all night) when he noticed the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.

Two dudes, each with more than enough liquor in them, fought it out under the streetlight. The fight spilled out into the street and before Dean could blink one had landed on the hood of his Impala.

He was out of the car in a flash. "Dudes, chill!" He was about to jump in when a hand grabbed the arm of the current winner, mid-punch.

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop now."

Dean stepped up into the circle cast by the streetlight. That's when he saw it, on the face of the man formerly pinned to his car, the horrible look of recognition.

_Oh, shit_. Hangs out at The Abbey was one headline – or, more accurately, wasn't one. Gets into Street Brawl Outside Notorious WeHo Boy Bar was quite another. Even Los Angelenos took note when a fist fight was involved.

He had his hands out to calm the guy down when it all came tumbling out.

"Oh my God… You're Castiel De Angelis!"

_Wait, what?_

"It's really you! I had a poster of you on my wall for years!"

Castiel blushed to beat the band. Both the victim and the man he'd been about to de-teeth stopped and stared.

But not as hard as Dean. He felt the strange urge to raise his hand, as if asking a question in class. _Um… what?_

Most surprising of all was that Castiel wasn't surprised a bit.

"Thank you, that's very flattering. If you don't mind taking your… altercation down the road-"

"Dude, no way! You have to get a pic with my brother and me first!"

Brothers. Well, that cleared up that mystery.

The man thrust his phone at Dean. "Could you take it?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Dean saw through the phone Castiel had a forced but natural looking smile, as if he'd done this lots of times.

The brother who'd been winning the argument finally spoke up. "Um, I'm a huge fan. Could you maybe…sign my chest?"

He wasn't talking to Dean either.

* * *

Castiel sat in the car and watched the side streets of the city race past. It was only a matter of time before the question marks hanging over Dean's head turned into actual questions.

"You have to work tomorrow?"

That wasn't one of the ones Castiel had braced for. "No. My schedule is clear."

"Good. So's mine."

He noticed with surprise when Dean pulled into the parking lot of a Bob's Big Boy that was apparently open all night.

They were settled in a plastic booth with a smooth, faux-wood Formica table straight out of the 1960s for all of a few seconds before Dean spoke. "Long story. Now."

As an afterthought, he added "And, so help me, if the words 'boy band' escape your lips I'll…"

"You'll what?"

Dean was stumped. "I have no idea." He looked around and spotted something. "Throw that pitcher of cold water over myself. This is NOT supposed to happen with clients."

Castiel knew he shouldn't ask. He also knew without some sort of life line he'd be lost. "What isn't supposed to happen with clients?"

Dean looked at him, hard. With all his might Castiel hoped his face conveyed a genuine loss of footing. He wasn't trying to be coy, or cute, or whatever people who said such things with a cigarette dangling between their lips were going for. Somehow he doubted Dean was the type to appreciate 'coy.' But the ground was shifting beneath him and he hadn't lived on the San Andreas fault long enough to even pretend he was comfortable with it.

The honesty in his question must've been obvious to Dean because rather than snap at him to not ask dumb questions he just ran a hand over his face. He regained his composure just in time to order two coffees and apple pie slices from the server. She was young, probably not long out of college if she'd gone. She had those things in her ears that make large holes you can see right through. Dean smiled and flirted with her in the same way he didn't with Castiel.

It was difficult not to notice that.

Castiel nodded his agreement with the order for the server's sake. He felt like a cartoon ACME anvil hovered just over his head. On a crazy instinct, he looked up to see if this was the case.

When he looked back down Dean was staring at him again.

Dean ran his hand over his face. "You know what? Fuck it. You don't owe me anything. Let's just sit here and eat pie."

"Dean, I fell out of the sky and landed in the middle of your work site. You've given me rides home. You just saw me sign another man's chest. I appreciate your respect for my privacy but you're allowed to talk to me like a normal person. I wish you would."

"Okay, let's start with the chest signing. 'Cause I've been on tv for three years and do you know how many boob signings I've been asked to do?"

"I'm going to guess zero."

"Zero. Exactly. So…" Dean looked like he didn't know quite how to phrase what came next. He winced. "Seriously, was it a boy band? Just fucking tell me if it was. I can take it."

Castiel smiled to the server as she brought their order. He waited a brief moment to check she was out of earshot and to let a large truck rumble past on the other side of the thin, smog-dusted glass. "No, I was not in a boy band. I was a figure skater. Pairs."

That was apparently news to Dean. "A figure skater? Were you good?"

Castiel felt that warranted a look. "I just signed a man's chest, Dean. I'm not sure what I can say if that doesn't convince you."

Dean leaned back in the booth. "Okay, fair point. Just asking." He seemed to think about what questions might logically follow this. Of course he found the one everyone found their way to eventually. "Were you good enough for the Olympics?"

Castiel never enjoyed this question. He chose his next words carefully. "I never went to the Olympics."

"Pretty sure that's not what I asked." Dean gave him a look like that particular bit of footwork only managed to highlight the rest of the tale. Most people just took it to mean 'no.'

"Yes, Dean, I was probably good enough for the Olympics. My partner Anna and I were even world champions for a year. She went to Vancouver with another skater in 2010. Though we probably wouldn't have medaled even if I had gone. China sent a formidable team that year."

"Wait, so you're saying your partner went without you? That's bullshit. How did that happen?"

Before drudging up the past Castiel took a moment to bath in how angry Dean was on his behalf. He wasn't enough to merit flirting with or apparently a basic Google search, but Dean cared. That was more than most people get from a crush. "About a year before the winter games… That was when my father decided certain elements of the sport were having an unhealthy effect on my maturation as a Christian. And as a man."

Despite not having added anything to his coffee, Castiel still turned the spoon around in the cup. The noise it made was soft, different from the constant noise of the skateboarders doing tricks in the parking lot. It was a delicate sound; he enjoyed the fact he could control it. Castiel had very little under his control at the moment.

When he looked up, Dean looked like he'd been hit with a truck. "Wait, you're saying you had a real chance to go to the _freaking Olympics_ and you lost it because…"

"…Because my father wanted to keep me from winding up like someone who tends bar at Micky's. As you can see, his plan backfired." Castiel put the spoon down. _In for a penny… _"My father was right in one respect, I've missed a lot of the social development that everyone else seems to have benefited from. I've probably logged far more hours on the ice than in actual conversation. It can take me a while to read people and situations correctly. I'm sorry to have blundered into your life like this."

Dean leaned back in the chair. "Man, I should not have taken you out for pie. I should've taken you out for tequila."

Castiel smiled. "The pie is good, Dean. You couldn't have known."

"Wasn't there anything you could do?"

Castiel sipped his coffee. "Olympic-level training is expensive. There was no way I could've afforded it on my own. I also wasn't ready to break ties with my family yet. It was made clear to me that was what I'd be doing if I did not acquiesce."

Dean spoke again, almost to himself. "And I thought the network was bad."

That didn't sound good. "What about your network?"

"Nothing, it's just… My exec producer, Zachariah, he has this list of behaviors and places I'm supposed to avoid in public. He and your dad would've probably gotten on like gangbusters."

Castiel pondered this for only a moment before hitting the brick wall, the one they'd been apparently racing towards like some sort of cartoon for a week now. "Is Micky's on that list?"

"Number one with a bullet. So thanks for giving me the chance to rebel a little. Mucho appreciated."

Castiel folded his napkin before putting it down on the Formica table. "You can't give me rides anymore."

Dean looked up at that. The inevitability of this train of thought apparently hadn't occurred to him. "That's not what I meant."

"Dean, I can't let you risk your job because my brother doesn't want to give me a ride. That's unacceptable."

Now Dean was looking alarmed. "Cas, I like giving you rides. Hell, I look forward to it now."

Castiel looked up at that. Dean looked serious.

But still… "No, it's not worth it."

"Cas-"

Castiel stood up and threw down what he hoped was an appropriate amount of bills on the table. "I'd enjoy seeing you again, Dean. More than you know. But my life is a wreck right now. I'm not taking you down with me."

With that he did the only thing he could think of to protect Dean's reputation. He turned and walked out of the diner to wait in the car.

* * *

Dean threw down some extra bills and raced out of the diner. _This was NOT how it was supposed to go down._ He pushed aside the suspicion that he was wrong about that. That he'd always known as soon as he touched whatever was going on between them it would dissolve to fragments under his hand.

"Cas, wait!"

"Please keep your voice down." He turned away, recoiling.

"No way! Look at me!"

When Cas turned back it was worse than when he'd pulled away. His face contained a fury that in some other age would've inspired someone to create a statue. Something vengeful and wrathful. And scary as hell. "I've compromised your position too much already. My life is in plastic bags in a tent in my brother's yard. Yours does not have to be. I won't let it be. Not for me."

Cas looked lost in his own personal whatever at that. Dean knew he'd need to do something to snap him out of it and fast. "Don't you think that's for me to decide? There's this little thing called 'free will.' Maybe you've heard of it."

"I have. And I choose not to do to anyone else what was done to me. What you have here is a dream, Dean. I won't let you lose it for… for whatever this is."

"What do you mean 'whatever this is?'" Dean started to do math in his head. _Can't read people, can't read situations…_ "Cas, what do you think this is?"

Now it was Castiel's turn to look uncomfortable. "I don't know. I know my brother roped you into picking me up because that's just how his mind works. I know you flirt with the server but not with me..."

…And the penny drops. "Cas, I don't flirt with people I take seriously. That's just for fun. The last time I felt like this about someone I got into a fistfight with my dad that wound up with both of us in stitches. And it wasn't because we were laughing!"

Dean had no idea what the people on the Titanic's meager supply of lifeboats looked like when they first saw a rescue ship on the horizon, but with all the money in his pockets he'd bet they looked like Castiel did at that.

"Oh." He staggered a bit against the car as if struck.

Dean took the opportunity to step in close. "Dude, I know you don't read people well, or whatever. So read this."

Before Castiel could think of another argument, Dean shut his mouth the most effective way he knew how.

It was a long moment before the other man pulled back from their kiss. When he did, somehow Castiel had worked the gravel back into his voice. "In the car. Now."

That suited Dean fine.

Dean steered the car with the palm of his hand. He was thankful the Valley rolled up the streets at night. He could sneak looks at his passenger every now and then without much danger.

Castiel looked like ten pounds of emotions in a five pound bag.

Dean thought it best to keep him talking. "What do you mean your stuff's in a tent in Gabe's backyard?"

Castiel looked up like he'd forgotten Dean was in the car. "Oh, that. Your crew came by today to do more work on the guest bathroom. They had to take down a wall. I live on the other side of that wall." He paused. "Or 'lived' rather."

"So you're in a tent?"

"You're updating his bedroom and basement already. He took the living room and bought me a tent."

Dean mentally upgraded Gabe from weapons-grade douche to plutonium-grade.

"Let me see this tent when we get there. Gabe probably set it up wrong. First gust of Santa Ana winds and you'll probably wind up in Oz or something."

Castiel looked like he was internally debating this, so Dean hastened to add "I'm serious. And I don't think you've got paparazzi in your trees or anything."

With that Castiel nodded. "That would be acceptable. Thank you."

Dean couldn't help it. "Acceptable, huh?"

"Dean, one of the worst moments of my life happened because someone convinced me we wouldn't get caught. I had no idea what it would cost me. But I have some idea what losing the show would cost you."

"Okay, okay. Let's just enjoy the ride."

They rode in silence after that. It wasn't enjoyable.

Dean kept his word when they got to Gabriel's house, and, true to his word, Castiel allowed him to do so. Dean looked over the tent in the backyard and felt a few thoughts scurry through his mind.

"This isn't bad. But here's a better idea… come back to my place."

Castiel's shoulders lifted. Dean could actually see him draw in enough air for a fight. "Dean-"

But Dean wasn't to be put off that easily. "Look, all the rules in my contract are about public behavior. Not private. I just moved into this new house-"

"I know," Castiel interrupted. "I saw the special episode on Hulu."

"Then you know I have the room. Cas, whatever else this is you're a friend now. Would you let me sleep in a tent if you had my house?"

He was standing as close to Cas as he dared, close enough to put a hand on his shoulder without even extending his arm. The privacy afforded by the night and the back yard felt like a cloak around them. The outside world had problems but there didn't have to be a problem here, like this.

Castiel looked up at him with a look so raw it hurt to see. So Dean closed his eyes and just leaned his forehead against Castiel's, willing him to understand the things he was afraid to say, as if by osmosis. _You're not alone. I have a house. Screw those douchebags. We could run off. I hear Mexico is awesome._

Somewhere in the night a bird that hadn't learned to tell time yet began to yelp rather melodically. Dean knew from now on hearing a bird's song would remind him of Cas.

He thought he might be winning the argument when Castiel tipped his face up to kiss him. They were slow, lingering kisses. Kisses that tasted of cinnamon from the apple pie. Dean gave himself over to them. He let the world be perfect for a moment.

Then the thought crossed Dean's mind these were the kisses you gave when you weren't going to be kissed again for a long time. "Cas, don't do this."

When he opened his eyes Castiel was already looking away.

"You should go back to the car now, Dean."

With so little blood left to run to his brain, all Dean could manage was a 'Yeah,' before he turned away.

* * *

The next week passed in a blur for Dean. Work. Back to the house. Masturbation in the shower. Sleep. When you sweated it out in the hot all day your shower belonged *after* work, not before. And this schedule bought his aching muscles a few more minutes of sleep in the morning.

Somewhere along the way Pamela brought over a new grill as a belated house-warming gift and commiserated with him on his deck. The weather was turning. He could just make out the smell of the ocean on the breeze (a rarity in Los Angeles, no matter what the brochures said). He mostly didn't say what the commiserations were needed for and she mostly didn't ask. The steaks and shrimp kebobs were damned tasty though. Dean was happy to report he'd been DVRing her show.

One thing Dean did manage to do on his own in that time was pull up a few Google video searches on his near miss of a lover. God bless ice skating fans and their love of YouTube! Dean got to see Castiel in all his glory, and it was glorious. He'd be the first to admit he had no idea what judges looked for when they evaluated a pairs routine, but Dean found himself holding his breath with some of their moves.

Most striking of all was one vid in particular. It wasn't their best routine on the 'net, but something about it gave Dean chills. It was a moment at the start, before the music even began. This was at an 'expo,' which Dean took to mean a free for all, as the lights were dimmed artistically rather than dialed to eleven to highlight every potential flaw in the routine.

In the half-light, Castiel had given his partner Anna a small nod before they started, a nod that clearly said 'we're ready for this.' Then, somehow, his eyes had found the camera. The look he gave the audience through it quite clearly said the opposite. _You're not ready for this. _They then proceeded to bring the house down around them.

Now Dean knew where his air of displaced royalty came from. The ice was his kingdom. On it his sovereignty was absolute.

The Google goggles yielded a few other things to see. There were some very stiff interviews after performances in which Castiel worked in Jesus, God, or the Lord about as often as someone under orders might. Dean knew Cas enough by now to see an awkwardness register on his face before some of them and wanted to tell himself Cas wasn't religious any more. Dean didn't really know much about religion except that when he stood outside his burning home and prayed for God to save his mom she'd died that night. That was the last time Dean and God had conversed.

Still… the interviewers that let Castiel talk about his faith for a bit more than a wedged-in sound bite resulted in very thoughtful answers. As much as Dean didn't want to admit it, the frequency might have been contrived but the emotions behind his words were real.

This was the first time Dean had learned something about Castiel that made him want to back off, though not by much. He wanted to charge right back into Cas's life when he came across articles dealing with the sudden absence of his rising star from the skating scene. His father issued a terse release citing 'medical concerns brought on by stress,' and was probably just the sort of ass who really did think his son had a medical problem.

Dean knew some people weren't even worth the punch to the face they worked so hard to deserve. He had a suspicion Castiel's father was one of them.

It wasn't long after this that Gabe cornered Dean at the job site and away from the cameras.

"You couldn't close the deal with my brother? Dude!"

Dean stared him down for a ten count while physically holding his hands back.

"You're giving me a look," Gabe noted. "What is that look?"

"Nothing. This is just my 'I picked a bad week to give up punching douchebags in the face' look."

Gabe gave him his own look for that. "What's that for?"

"You made him sleep in a tent."

"So that he'd go home with you! What else do I have to do, buy the lube?"

Dean really wished he had a Get Out of Jail Free card in his pocket. At that moment all the things he wanted to respond with were jail worthy. "That was on purpose?"

"My brother hasn't had a lot of men in his life. And the ones he had weren't very nice. Yes, it was on purpose. Little guy could use some mercy from the universe right now. And P.S. I was doing you a solid at the time, too. _Or so I thought_."

Dean refrained from pointing out the hilarity in Gabe calling anyone 'little guy.' "So that was you playing matchmaker?"

"Look back over our history, you Village People reject. At what point did I strike you as subtle?"

Fair point.

But Dean's patience was too frayed to acknowledge it. "Is there a point to this conversation or did you just want to berate me for not getting laid?"

Gabe turned and looked back towards the crew. Whatever it was, he wanted it overheard even less than the conversation so far. "Something is going on at Micky's. I'll text you."

And with that, Gabe disappeared back in front of the cameras, exactly where Dean couldn't possibly ask for more info.

Sneaky bastard.

* * *

The text came about five days later, and none too soon. They were only about three weeks away from wrapping up the job and Dean already didn't want to think about that. At least now he saw Cas enough at work to offer a 'Hi, howareya?' Meager, but at the moment it was all he had.

MICKY'S. 10:30. PARK AND GO INSIDE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!

Dean's only hesitation was on which jacket to wear.

Dean slunk into Micky's as casually as he could. Half his concern was for being caught there, but as much by the regular patrons as anyone else. He had a horrible idea they could tell he was bi just by looking at him and at any time in the evening they might point and yell 'shun the unbeliever!'

He was honest enough to kick himself a little for this, though. Who said these guys didn't have pasts as checkered as he did? He reminded himself of the fact this place wasn't his usual style, and therefor he had exactly nothing on which to base those assumptions. Plus no one blinked an eye when he ordered a shot of Jameson's. As long as they didn't mess with his whiskey drinking he couldn't really complain.

In addition to that, he couldn't help but notice the Monday night crowd was different than the weekend crowd. For starters, it wasn't so much a crowd as a gathering. Dean even noticed the presence of honest-to-God elbow room. The wild thought crossed his mind that if someone tried to talk to him tonight he'd actually be able to hear them. Weird. Hell, on a night like this maybe even he could become a Micky's guy.

Then there was the other half of his concern. Castiel.

Dean was pleased to notice he wasn't tending bar tonight. That was a relief. He'd at least like a drink in him before the inevitable altercation took place. Dean knew he had exactly zip in the 'good reasons to be here' department. _'Cause Gabe said so?_ Yeah, that'll fly in court. The fact he was here because of Gabe would probably be counted as evidence for the prosecution.

Dean had just been enjoying his second drink, _what the hell, even the condemned get last meals, _when the MC for the evening deigned to grace the small stage. Dean wasn't really listening to his (her? What exactly was the grammar protocol on drag queens?) spiel. '_Thank you for coming to amateur night_' something, something. '_Now for our first performer'_… something '…_bartender_,' something '…_Our newest songbird, put your_ _hands together for_ _The Ice Queen!_'

Only then did Dean look up.

_Oh holy fuck_.

Castiel leaned against the side of the stage as if caught sneaking a fag in a dive bar in the 1930's. Everything about his outfit.. _his dress_… screamed another era. Or perhaps it merely whimpered it. It was a slinky thing, blue. It brought out his eyes like God invented the color for no higher purpose. His makeup was bare but offered just a wink of sparkle, like something rare each man in the audience could believe he alone caught the beauty of.

Apparently all those years putting together costumes and makeup designs for various skating routines had really paid off.

Castiel took the mic from its stand. "This is about something perfect," he whispered into it. "The kind of thing only exists in music…"

And with that, Castiel took his sex on gravel voice and raked it over a rendition of "East of the Sun." The song was supposed to be about someone looking out onto a bright future, but the intro had been superfluous. Each shattered look on the singer's face let the audience witness the tragedy of an impossible dream close enough to torment you but never close enough to touch.

When the lyrics hit upon the idea of building a house together Dean felt himself collapse back further into his seat. The lyrics were so real for him – for them – and so intimate in their intonation, Dean felt like he had fallen into another man's dreams. Somehow Castiel translated this private world-collapse into the once happy tune perfectly. Apparently he spoke sardonic despair at the fluent level.

As the last note trembled out, Castiel put the microphone back in its stand and looked away, unwilling or unable to accept applause from the audience for something so private. Dean wasn't the only one to jump to his feet afterwards. He was, however, the only one to let out a mighty cheer for his friend.

Castiel looked up at that. Even with the spotlight in his eyes, he had to have recognized it. Anyone who saw the opening credits of Family Business could have. It was the same as the one he gave racing down Route 66 and hanging out the car window.

Castiel's eyes narrowed.

At that moment Dean realized Gabe couldn't help him get laid, but he had helped him get himself deeply, deeply screwed.

* * *

Dean found the only private place he could as the rest of the performers took the stage, one by one. Which is to say, he hid near the men's room. He told himself it wasn't entirely cowardice. After all, a scene was about to be made and the other performers really didn't need a brawl breaking out during their act.

It wasn't long before Castiel appeared. All the traces of make-up were gone and he was back in jeans again. But just like with the ice skating videos, what had been seen could not be unseen. Dean still saw the sultry songbird, the royalty misplaced.

Before Castiel could utter a word against him (and again Dean could see him draw in breath for just that reason) Dean said the thing he knew he had to say above all others.

"You were amazing! Seriously."

That seemed to take the wind out of Castiel's wrath for a moment. He fought a visible, internal battle with himself and then directed Dean's attention towards the men's room door. "Inside. Now."

In the 2% of Dean's brain that wasn't worried about getting his ass kicked, he had to admit Castiel's voice dropped a very attractive octave when it gave orders.

Once the door had shut behind them, Castiel started up again. "I told you not to come. How did you even know about this?"

"Relax. Gabe told me."

"Relax? You're taking moral instruction from GABE?"

Dean leaned in. He could play the 'drop your voice' game too. "I'm taking whatever I can get, Cas. Maybe I didn't make this clear before but I. Don't. Get. Things. Like. This." He sliced each word off his tongue with precision. "So I don't know what all the rules are but I sure as fuck know you don't walk away because it gives some scuzzbag in a suit a happy."

Castiel studied him at that. If he had a good argument before, it seemed to be misplaced at the moment.

Dean decided to push his luck while he still had some. "You said you didn't want any more rides home? Fine. But a friend of mine just did something incredibly brave and he was AWESOME at it. And I got no right to be but, fuck it, I'm proud as hell."

Castiel walked to the sink and started running cold water. Dean clocked some very top level thinking going on – and Castiel was trouble when he was thinking.

Dean decided to try to distract him further. "I wish I could go out there and tell all those guys I saw you first-"

Castiel splashed some water on his face and turned off the tap. "Shut up, Dean."

It was so quiet, Dean rolled right past. "I saw you before any of them did, and if they want your time, you know what?"

"I said shut up, Dean."

"They can fucking respect the line! Because-"

At that moment Dean found himself attacked by some sort of kissing monster.

Dean was blindsided, but only for a moment. After that, survival instincts kicked in and he drove into the skid until Castiel pulled back.

"This doesn't change how I feel about your job. If you lose it for me, if you risk it ONE TIME, I swear by all that is holy…"

"I get it," Dean swore. "I do. Nothing public." Dean kissed Castiel at that, calmly, no rush. Proof he wasn't just talking with his dick. Well, not *just* his dick.

And judging by what he felt holding Castiel, not just *his* dick. "You know, I got a pretty good cure for that. It's organic and everything…" Dean began to untuck Castiel's shirt, reaching his hand further and further down into his jeans with each pull until he could rake his nails through the other man's short and curlies.

Castiel stepped back. It made Dean's world tilt beneath him. "What?"

His songbird looked around the room they were in as if only just now noticing it. "In a men's room?"

For all his smarts – and home construction had a lot to do with smarts, make no mistake – Dean could not tell what could possibly be upsetting Castiel at this. Dean had done it in a bathroom before. Not that often, but there were worse places. When it was running as hot as this you used what came to hand. "Yeah, so?"

In the next moment, Castiel looked up at him with eyes desperate to impart some special intelligence. Some key point that would change the game. But all Dean could read there was an endless expanse of _pleasedontmakemesayit_, _pleasedontmakemesayit_.

Looking back over that moment later, ashamed he didn't put it together sooner, Dean would blame the two or three (okay, three) drinks he'd had earlier. "Cas, this is kinda a big deal for you, isn't it?"

Castiel looked at the ground and flushed. "I would like to think it's a big deal for you as well, Dean."

"No, it is. Don't for a second think it's not, you hear me?" Castiel rewarded him with some eye-contact for that. "Good. But…" Dean had never been fantastic at words. Good maybe, if he wasn't buzzed. But Dean was buzzed on a lot of different things at the moment. "Uh, let's put it this way. That show, on stage tonight. That your first time doing that?"

Relief flooded Castiel's face. If he didn't know where Dean was going, he seemed to trust the conversation had taken the right turn. "Yes, Dean. It was a first."

"Right. And is that looking like your only first tonight?"

Castiel looked over Dean for only a moment before answering. "Judging by how things have gone so far, no. Perhaps not."

Dean nodded. "Right." _Nice job, genius. You were about to bust his cherry in a men's room, for crying out loud_.

He mentally penciled in some time to feel like shit about that later.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and forced himself to think of the Queen of England. "Okay, new plan. You are not living in some sad sack tent like a fucking hobo anymore." He pulled a business card from his wallet and an old Ikea pencil from his jacket pocket (yes, this had been the right choice of jacket for the evening). He started writing. "Here's my address. Go to your brother's house. Grab your stuff and come back to my place tonight. I got a big guest bedroom and no one's doing any fucking remodeling. Nice and private. We can go as slow as… whatever."

Castiel looked down at the card in his hand. "Alright."

"Just first…." He stepped in close to Cas again and dared him to pull away.

Castiel tucked the card in his shirt pocket and leaned up to Dean's face, nosing him slightly, then turning to Dean's cheek and letting long, black eyelashes flutter over his skin. "Is there something else you wanted, Dean?"

_Yeah, my pants to be less tight_. Cas may have wanted to slow things down, but he apparently had no problem keeping the temperature set to scorching. _Two can play that game, Mr. De Angelis. _"You're the one who wants to go slow, Cas. Me, I'd just throw us on the nearest flat surface and go at it until we forgot our own names."

Castiel pulled back. He breathed deeply and stared hard. He opened his mouth to say something but shut it again. Instead, he turned and headed towards the door.

Dean was just about to let out a breath and check how obvious his erection was when Castiel looked back at him, intensity rising off his stare like heat waves. With deliberate moves, Castiel reached his hand into his back pocket and pulled out some change.

He then proceeded to buy a condom from the vending machine.

Without a word, Castiel raked his naked stare over Dean's body one last time before placing the condom in the same pocket as Dean's card and sauntering out of the Men's room.

Dean waited until he was out of earshot before collapsing against the wall and letting out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding on a long "Fuck me!"

He wasn't an expert in the topic but Dean was pretty sure that last bit had counted as some kind of torture.

* * *

Four green lights and two 'they-were-mostly-yellow-when-I-hit-them's later, Dean looked around his house with new eyes. It wasn't his type of place. He hadn't lived in a house for so long he no longer had a type. He'd assumed it would grow on him… eventually. But still he couldn't shake the feeling it was someone else's, even if he was the only owner and he and Sam had the only keys.

Now he was grateful it wasn't to his taste. He wasn't a candle guy, but the place was lousy with them. He pulled out his lighter – another token of a life he wasn't allowed to live in public – and looked around. Five? Seven? Hell, maybe he should just do them all. Also, did people chill wine or was that champagne?

The removal of Dean's own virgin status had happened in the backseat of the Impala at a motel outside Austin. He'd been flirting with the check in girl when his dad wasn't around and soon discovered she was a woman, not a girl, and flirting was only the start of her to do list. The only thing Dean had wanted of the experience was to not embarrass himself and not leave any evidence in the car.

He doubted Castiel had set such a low bar for the evening. Hell, now that he knew the man, Dean didn't want Cas to have the back-of-the-car experience he'd had. That's not what you want to give to someone who's crawled under your mental hood and been re-wiring your thoughts for weeks. Not for their first time, at any rate.

Dean decided at least one candle should be out on his back deck. There was an 'I'm pretending to be casual seating but it's pretty obvious I'm a bed' thing out there. That had been Sam's housewarming gift. Out under the stars…. Dean thought Cas might like that.

He had just tucked the wine under his arm and stepped through the doors to his backyard when he noticed the outdoor lights were on. _What the… _He looked up.

There sat Zachariah, complete with suit and shit-eating grin.

"I hope you don't mind" he said, though his smile showed that really hoped that Dean minded as much as possible. "I came here to discuss some rather unsettling business and I thought it'd be better in a more private environment."

Dean punched a grin onto his face and tried not to imagine punching anyone else's. "Of course. Wouldn't want some shit-for-brains coworker barging in." Dean set down the candle and wine and crossed his arms over his chest. "What can I do you for, Zach?"

Dean always tried to rhyme Zach in his mind with 'dick.' Insurgencies can live off such meager rations, if need be.

"Well, I thought you'd want to know there's been some activity on your Wikipedia page."

_Uh-oh._

"It says you're in a relationship with a figure skater, Castiel De Angelis. Is this true, Dean?"

Dean made himself laugh. _Funny. Just keep saying it's funny_. "It is absolutely true, ol' Zachariah. I should really thank you. After all, you introduced us."

The whole danse macabre was almost worth it for the way Zachariah paled at that.

"He's our current client's brother," Dean clarified. "And that relationship you mentioned? He's a friend of mine."

"So you didn't pick him up at a notorious gay bar?"

Dean punched up his grin again. It was already at an eleven and he could just picture the dial starting to shake. "Absolutely. What? You've never given a buddy a ride home when he needed it? Honestly, Zach, I don't know how that sort of behavior fits in with our core values as a company."

He knew if he saw the do-not-cross line now it could only be in his review mirror, but Dean had had more than he could take and then some.

"No, Dean. My friends and family can hold their liquor."

Dean saw red in every hue and permutation the human eye could comprehend, and a few more besides. Sam's past. The lowest of blows.

Zach seemed to realize he'd poked a dragon at that and so feigned a compulsive interest in his fingernails. "Be that as it may, you may need to keep those designated driver skills sharp. After all, I can't imagine what suddenly losing a very public job in a very public way could do to someone in recovery like your brother. Especially if the way it is lost nullifies all manner of settlement options."

"You leave Sam out of this."

"I'm not the one who brought him into it, Dean. Or don't you remember you signed a contract together?"

Dean ran his hand over his face. The duel contract, the one part of the too-good-to-be-true deal that their agent Bobby said seemed off somehow. At the time the network said it was to keep one brother from negotiating something better than the other, to 'promote a harmonious atmosphere for the show.'

Now Dean knew better. If he hadn't done the math in his head, the smile on Zachariah's face would've been enough to tell him he was trapped.

Zachariah stood. "I'm glad to hear this… gentleman is just a friend, Dean. You'll be pleased to know I've already removed the offensive passage from your Wikipedia entry."

_Offensive to who, you gelatinous jag-off?_

Dean dialed up his smile again. "Appreciated. And I hope you appreciate if you enter my house again without an invite, I have two guns and I'm a big fan of castle doctrine. Hey, that's law in California, right?"

Zachariah didn't answer the question, but he did shift his weight as far back from Dean as he could without actually yelling 'retreat.' "I'll just show myself out."

Dean stared at Zachariah's form as he cut a swath through Dean's brand new house. When he was sure the other man was gone he picked up an ashtray and threw it as far as he could into his backyard. "DAMMIT!"

When he looked up from his tantrum he saw it.

Castiel. In his driveway.

And from the look on his face he'd heard enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Dean pointed at Castiel. "Don't. Don't you dare."

Castiel was momentarily shocked. "I don't intend to leave, if that's what you're asking."

Dean seemed to physically break himself. For the second time that night Castiel had the impression they'd just executed a maneuver from a cartoon. Castiel stopped running and Dean, much like Wile E. Coyote, sped right past him and into a wall.

It could take a fellow some time for his internal GPS to recalculate after running into an inanimate object, so Castiel waited for the truth of his words to hit home without adding anything further. Instead he looked around the back yard. It was small by LA standards, smaller than it had looked on television, but it was pleasant. There was a fire pit, a bed-like-object masquerading as community seating, and a bottle of wine on the table. "Is that for us?"

At the sound of his voice, Dean seemed to snap back into the moment. "Yeah, I got it for… never mind. It was a gift. I'm more of a beer man, but it should be good."

Castiel lowered his backpack to the ground. "Let's find out."

He walked calmly past a still stunned Dean and went directly to the kitchen. Castiel remembered the layout from the show. It was a simple home, its price based more on location than anything else. Up in the hills it was easy to forget you lived in a city. You were on a small street on the side of a minor mountain. Your neighbors were trees and flocks of birds that were just waiting for you to leave so they could re-inherit the altitude. Their attitude seemed predicated on the idea humans couldn't possibly survive the wilds of Los Angeles long enough to be any more than a blip on their radar.

Castiel was the first to admit they might have a point.

He emerged with a corkscrew and two glasses. "Shall we…" With a nod of his head, Castiel indicated the canopy bed masquerading as something other than a way to have sex outside without grass stains.

Dean held a hand over his face for a moment. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great."

Castiel opened the bottle and poured. There was an awkward moment as Dean clearly wondered how close he was allowed to sit. "I don't bite, Dean."

Dean sat. Close. "Oh? And how would you know?"

Castiel smiled at that, though mostly to himself. "I suppose I don't. Maybe I am a biter. Or a screamer." He grinned again. "I suppose we'll find out."

Dean didn't look spooked anymore. Just aware. Hyper aware.

Castiel felt the heat of his scrutiny. He raised his glass. "To the new world."

Dean raised his hand and drank as if on autopilot. When he was done he stared into the glass. Castiel knew something was coming and waited for it.

"Why, Cas? Why'd you stay?"

Now it was Castiel's turn to look down into his glass. "The change in the weather re-enforced your argument last week quite effectively, Dean. Also…" Did he really need to say this?

He looked up at Dean, at the raw, anxious look on his face. Yes, he really did. "Also, you should know that once I make up my mind very few things can walk me back. Zachariah was an effective buzzkill, I admit, but after seeing you at the club tonight, knowing you came to see me…" Castiel leaned in to make his point plain. "I want more of this, Dean. Not less. It's very selfish of me-"

"Don't," Dean broke in. "It's not. I get it. Believe me, I get it. Man, if you had bailed on me again tonight I might've just jumped in the car and hunted you down."

It took only a moment for Dean's face to register shock at his own words. "I mean you can leave whenever you want. No worries."

Castiel nodded at that. "Thank you."

"It's just… After everything tonight, you, the club… And then that douche nozzle has to go and-"

Dean's voice trailed off. Castiel savored the knowledge that the simple act of running his hand through Dean's hair could stop him mid-sentence. Then he savored the knowledge he had a right to do this. It was allowed. _He_ was allowed.

"He's not around anymore."

Dean just sat in the moonlight, letting Cas touch him, before continuing his thought. "Anyway, visits from Dickus Maximus just make me pissed at the world. They make me wanna get drunk or get laid, and I'm all out of beer."

Castiel decided this would be an opportune time to replace his hand with his mouth. He leaned in close, where his breath would ghost warm and moist over Dean's ear. "Then it's a good thing I'm here."

Dean leaned back a bit at that, clearly unsure of things. Castiel noted it was just enough to give him a good view of Castiel's face, of his intentions. The bulk of his body remained close. "I won't let you risk your job more than you already have, Dean. In public, I don't know you. And I won't let you risk anything for your brother. But Zachariah and his ilk, I believe they bring out a similar impulse in me as they do in you."

"You wanted to punch him in the face?"

"No. I wanted to kiss you on the mouth."

Castiel leaned in to kiss Dean's cheek now. He knew Dean would understand actions more than words. "When I came here tonight, I was uneasy. But watching you talk with Zachariah… You shouldn't have to deal with that alone."

Castiel decided to settle with his head on Dean's shoulder. He'd made his point. "If you really feel what I've been feeling these past weeks-"

"Dude, how can you even ask that?"

"Because these last few weeks haven't been good for me, Dean. The same could probably be said for the last few years. I think I can be allowed some incredulity, all things considered."

Castiel sipped more of his wine while Dean processed this. "I don't know in what capacity I should be here. But as you said before, no matter what else we're friends now. I don't like the idea of you facing down the network alone. You've been very kind to me, Dean. I don't want you to have to regret it. I want to make this easier on you."

Castiel looked up when Dean chuckled at this. He watched as the other man rolled what little remained of his wine around in his glass. "With all the shit you've been through lately I thought I was gonna say that tonight."

Castiel leaned back a bit at that and refilled his glass. "Considering my status it could have sounded a little… trite."

When he looked up from his glass, he Saw Dean was staring again. "That's not what I mean. Well, that too, it's just… You're life right now is like those spins you used to do."

Despite his best efforts, Castiel blushed. And mentally blamed the wine. "You did a Google search."

"Damn right I did. You'd go so fast and so much at once, but you kept it under control." Dean turned his whole body to face him. "You've got so much happening right now, Cas, it's insane. But you've kept control." Dean took another swig of wine. "Maybe not as much as it looks like-"

"Not even close."

"But from where I sit you're keeping a lid on this crap. I didn't talk to you this past week because I didn't want to mess with that. Like it was all one push from spiraling outta hand."

There was a long pause then. Castiel didn't want to ask what he had to ask next. He waited and listened to some nearby cicadas as long as he could, until… "Then why did you come to the club tonight?"

Dean took the drink from his hand and leaned in. "Same reason you came back to my place. Whatever this is I want more. And don't forget it."

With that Dean started kissing him again. Kisses like they'd had at the club. In that men's room. _Was that really just earlier tonight?_

Castiel felt a gentle pressure and let Dean guide him to leaning back on the bed. As Dean set to work pulling off their shirts, he stared up at the night sky, the same sky that had rained a torrent of shit and fire on him for the last few weeks. He felt Dean's hands on the fly of his jeans and raised his own to stop them.

"What?"

Castiel looked down over his now naked chest to where Dean looked up at him, equal parts want and caution. _Too much goodness for one night, even with the unfortunate intermission._"Dean, I appreciate your enthusiasm, more than you know. But I would rather walk the bases than sprint them now that we have some time on our hands."

Dean pulled away from Castiel's jeans and climbed onto the bed next to him. "Alright then Mr. Bossypants, what do you want to do tonight?"

Castiel grinned and pushed Dean firmly down on his back. "I have an idea."

He kissed his way down Dean's neck and chest. Out in the open, Castiel relished the way the cool air made Dean's skin seem even warmer, if that was possible. By the time he made it down to Dean's jeans he knew exactly what he wanted to try. He started by removing the belt… slowly. Then he turned his attention to Dean's boots. He worked them off with caution, and far more time than was warranted.

For a moment after that Castiel just stood, half naked in the starlight, staring down at the sight of Dean vulnerable beneath him.

With one hand he reached down to undo the button and zipper of the jeans, all the while keeping his gaze locked on Dean's face, his reactions. Dean's hips were already shifting against his hand. Only when he'd worked the most responsive part of the other man's body free of its restraints did Castiel deign to apply himself to removing the jeans entirely.

Turning away as if there was no one around and nothing better to do, Castiel lit a fire in the fire pit. He paused and warmed his hands for what was to come.

"Cas…" Dean's breath was hitched, his voice raw. "_Cas…_"

Castiel then turned and knelt in the grass by the bedside and studied his partners body in the moonlight. "I'm thinking."

"Could you maybe think a little faster? I'm dyin' here!"

Castiel leaned over the bed and knelt in close to the instructive curve of skin over Dean's hipbone. It and its pair on the other side of his body pointed like an elaborate arrow. To where it pointed, Castiel breathed hot air over the feather-soft skin. "You are not dying yet, Dean."

In that moment, Castiel was relieved Dean had never asked what had gone through Castiel's mind in the cab ride over to his home that night. He'd spent the entire time on his smartphone, looking up helpful advice and tricks under the intermittent flashes of the streetlights and the 24 hour donut shops they'd sped past.

Whether or not they were truly instructive was answered almost immediately.

_"Oh, God! Cas!"_

Castiel looked up at that. "Don't blaspheme."

.

* * *

.

Stars blinked in and out of Dean's vision as he stared up at the night sky and reworked his personal definition of the word _debauched_. Any doubts he had in his mind that Castiel had figured out what his _I'm in charge now _voice does to him were gone. He may be polite and he may be quiet, but Dean now knew Castiel could mess you up.

_Selfish_. That's what this was. Dean stared up at the sky and wondered what God would say to someone who let such an awesome guy's first time be giving someone else a blowjob. _Selfish…_ _But, oh God, you didn't see the look on his face. You'd have gone for it too._

Still, his defense didn't exactly feel airtight. "Cas… _Cas!_"

Cas looked up from his exploits. "Is something wrong?" He face looked so damn earnest it could kill a puppy. Seriously, a puppy would look at that face, say 'I got nuthin' and keel over. That was a thing that could happen.

"No, Cas, nothing's wrong. But if you want anything else to happen tonight we need to stop NOW."

Castiel looked almost let down by the triviality of this intelligence. "I may be inexperienced, Dean, but I can assure you I know how this story ends." He took the moment to blow air over Dean's wet, exposed skin.

This did nothing to help Dean's conscience, nor his cogitating. "Okay, but if you're really okay with this being all we do tonight…"

Cas underscored just how okay he was with that by planting a chaste kiss on the head in his hand, then licking over the sensitive part on its underside. _Not helping, not helping… _

Dean forced himself to look up and away from all these addictive images. There was no other way to finish his thought. "Uh, if you're okay with that, I'm gonna need… I'm gonna need you to hold my hips down." It was humiliating to admit, but Dean was far from having control over himself at the moment. Control was on the other side of the moon. "'Cause I don't want to hurt you and I am really, really not sure I won't."

Rising from his knees, Castiel gave Dean the impression that he'd just been praying and Dean was high on the list of likely targets for those prayers. It occurred to Dean not for the first time the devotion of someone like Castiel was way above his pay grade.

Stepping away from the side of the bed, Castiel studied Dean. By the light of the banking fire, Dean felt a judgment weigh on him as sure as he felt night chill explore his exposed body. After admitting he might've been about to choke the guy he doubted he was being found worthy.

But Castiel didn't leave. Instead, he stepped up onto the bed with his knees and pushed Dean's legs apart. From his perch between them, Castiel took the time to examine each thigh, first with his lips, then raking his fingers down the skin towards Dean's base.

Another strangled gasp escaped Dean's throat at that. He wasn't sure where sweet, alien Cas had picked up these tricks, but if it was a porno it was _the best porno ever_.

Finally Cas's hands settled over Dean's hip bones. With that curious stare, now somehow tinged with ownership, Cas leaned over Dean's body, pinning the man down with his weight. "Better?"

_Not allowed to blaspheme, Goddamncocksuckingmonkeyball s… _ Dean punched his reply through clinched teeth. "_Gah…_ Yes."

It wouldn't be fair to say Castiel grinned. But a light flicked through his eyes that made clear his satisfaction at having acquired the upper hand, the upper everything.

For the next eleven minutes, Dean's awareness was pulled out of his brain. It slipped into his blood and slid through veins and arteries. It twitched through his muscles and ghosted over his naked skin, goose bumps raised in the night air. In the end it was punched out through a spasm into someone else entirely. When he'd recovered enough to open his eyes his throat was raw and his pulse was ebbing away, an ocean tide in reverse.

Beached next to him, Castiel lay by Dean's side, looking up at his face. He was calm, dreaming awake of something Dean couldn't see an asshole like himself featuring in. But still he knew Castiel's dreams that night, asleep or awake, were in part based on him.

He kissed Castiel deep, on instinct. Dean never got off on the idea of tasting himself on someone, but it was just something you did, something to show the other person they weren't lesser or debased for giving so much. The international language for _you are fucking awesome._

"Good?" Castiel asked.

A wave of want swept over Dean. Want to own, to keep. To protect but also far worse things. _"My brother Castiel has a terrible habit of inspiring in people one of two instincts: protection or possession."_

In that moment Dean was certain of few things. He'd probably need a few tries to get his name right. But staring into Castiel's deep blue skies Dean knew for damn sure he was **not** on the side of the angels.

.

* * *

.

Sometime before dawn - though not much before going by the way the sky had inched from black to deepest blue - Dean came to and realized they'd both fallen asleep out under the stars. He checked his watch and realized what had woken him up finally. It wasn't the chill that crept under the heavy blanket Cas had grabbed from the living room, it wasn't the birds, it wasn't even the ever-so-slightly drooling new lover asleep beside him.

It was his alarm clock. In the house. He was about to be running very late.

Dean got up quickly but with an economy of movement. If it was too late to move inside than this was clearly the only sleep Cas was going to get. No need to wake him yet.

He looked down and studied Castiel for a moment. The other man looked so vulnerable beneath him that for a moment Dean's heart thundered in his chest. He'd never had a guest who wasn't leaving in the morning or at the end of the weekend, and he'd for sure never lived with someone who wasn't family.

Dean looked for the weirdness that he assumed he should feel at the moment, but there was none to be found. It wasn't weird, it was Cas.

And *that* was weird.

Dean looked around the yard for Castiel's backpack. He found it and moved it to the guest bedroom, all the while trying not to feel like shit about the fact he sold this idea with the argument his guest should really stop sleeping in somebody's back yard. _Yeah, that was genius. _

Dean took a swipe at his alarm clock and turned it off. 6:44, enough time to change and write Castiel a note.

Thinking he should also do something about breakfast, he grabbed an energy bar from a Costco-sized box in his pantry. _I have a pantry_ echoed through his not-quite thoughts the way so many things about the house did. _I have a pantry; I have a yard; I have a stainless steel fucking fridge._ Dean still felt like he was being introduced to the place, the way the details jumped out at him.

He scribbled out a message telling Castiel all the relevant house info and giving him his phone number so he can send his own damn texts from now on.

After thinking about it for a second he added a post script.

_"I may be late. Need to swing by Sammy's."_

Only after writing the words did Dean realize just how much he'd meant them.

.

* * *

.

His knock on the door was more hesitant than usual. Luckily, Sam's answer was not.

"Dean? What's up, man? Come on in."

Dean felt sheepish barging in on Sam like this but all through the day he hadn't quite been able to bring himself to text Sam about it. Since Dean got his own place he'd never texted his brother before heading over, unless it was to check if Sammy needed him to pick up anything. They had a standing invite to just drop by whenever. Texting now would've felt tantamount to declaring a 'big announcement' was coming and Dean still wasn't sure how big this was, or even what exactly he had to announce.

Still, as soon as he walked through the door Dean knew he'd made the right call. His brother's grin – sober and safe in his own condo – always turned the stress dial down a notch or two.

"Dean, you didn't tell us you'd be over!" Jess came to hug him as soon as he was in the door.

"He doesn't have to, Jess."

"I'm just saying we'd have beer or real food if we'd known."

Dean couldn't resist that. "So you're having unreal food tonight?"

"Lebanese take-out" she admitted. "I promise I do actually cook for your brother."

"Don't. He doesn't deserve it."

From the kitchen Sam yelled a 'Thanks' for that. Dean could just see him through the pass-through redistributing the food over three plates.

"He eats take-out off of plates," Jess stage-whispered to Dean. "Can you believe this guy?"

Dean laughed. That was the great thing about Jess. For years Dean felt like he'd had to carry the Sam load alone. Even in the good times, he could feel how different he and Sam were. But there was an immortal, immutable law that said your brother was never weird. Other people's brothers were weird. Your own brother had to be normal – at least to you. That's the law.

Since Sam and Jess had started up Dean finally had someone to give his 'I dunno where the fuck he gets that from' look to. "No, I can't believe him. Never could." With Jess, he was allowed to say that. He was even allowed to think it. "Hey Sam, I'd like mine with an oyster fork."

"Fuck you," came the automatic reply.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Damn, it was good to be around family. Still, Dean noticed a hole in the conversation. The one that would've started with 'Hey, Jess, this is Castiel…' But introductions involved status assignments. Dean doubted "He's my roommate for a week, or we might be living together. I can't tell, but I'm thinking of tanking our meal ticket over him" would work.

They passed a dull, average evening yelling out answers to Jeopardy and enjoying every minute. Sam had the joy of someone who'd rebuilt a dull life brick by painful brick over the course of years. Jess had the happiness that came from knowing your boyfriend's brother was awesome and thought you were awesome too. Dean was just happy to see Sam and Jess together. He hadn't felt like he'd abandoned his brother back when he got his own place, not really. But there had been some nervousness. Sam had relied on Dean to help him stay sober for so long… Now every time he saw Sam (and now Jess) living an awesome life on their own he felt better about it.

"Seriously, how did that guy not know the Defenestration of Prague? That was a given."

Dean threw back the last of his near beer, which did nothing to buck up his courage. "I dunno, Sam. That's a real mystery. Anyway, can I talk to you out on the balcony for a sec?"

Sam looked him over. While it was clear he'd picked up on the change in tone, it was also clear he knew better than to be anything but cool about it. "Yeah, sure. Come on."

Sam turned to Jess. "Hey, Jess? We're gonna go break a few contract stipulations on the balcony."

The plates clanked together in her arms as she gathered the detritus of the meal. "Use the ashtray this time."

Dean waited until Sam had shut the glass door behind them. "So, I got something, I don't know, I thought maybe…"

Sam held up his hand. "Can I just say something first?"

Dean lit his smoke and felt relieved. "Shoot."

After a conspiratorial look back through the glass, Sam leaned into Dean. "Don't react. I bought a ring."

Dean almost choked on his cigarette. "You bought a-"

"Be cool!"

Dean coughed and worked a neutral expression back on his face. What the hell kind of upside down world was it when Sam had to tell him to be cool? "Okay, I'm cool. This is my cool face. Is there a cool way I can hug the shit out of you right now?"

….And there was the bitch face. "Dude, no! Jess can still see us. This door is glass, Dean. She can see through glass."

"Fine, but when she's not looking you're getting slapped on the back. Like, a life-changing slap on the back."

"Great. Something to look forward to."

Dean took another drag off his cigarette and looked out over the uneven yet oddly comforting terrain of Silver Lake. "You and Jess... 'Bout damn time. I was gonna propose for you if you left it any longer."

"Yeah, me and Jess… So what's your news about?"

After that Dean felt like he didn't really have anything to report. I mean, what did he have, really? Proof his house was better than sleeping in a tent? "I dunno, it's not like your news. You definitely win tonight."

"It's Castiel, isn't it?"

Dean froze, the cigarette halfway to his mouth.

Sam held up his hand, ever the peace maker. "It's okay. I don't think anyone else knows."

"Yeah? How'd you know?"

Sam grinned. "I'm your brother, Dean. I can tell when you're into someone. He's the only one at the site you don't talk to much, and when you do you make that weird, intense face-"

"I don't make a face!"

"…And then there's the time you told me you saw his old figure skating routines on YouTube." Sam was enjoying this way too much as far as Dean was concerned. "I can count on one hand the number of times you told me about something you saw online that wasn't porn."

Dean looked away. "Shuddup. And 'Two Girls and a Cup' isn't really porn. It's just… there."

Sam put down his not-a-beer a raised one finger. "That's one. And Castiel is two. See what I mean?" He had apparently decided he'd made his point, because Sam picked up his drink again. "So have you asked him out?"

"We're kind of living together."

Dean relished the look that inspired. Sometimes even the know-it-all doesn't know everything.

"Oh my God, Dean. That's awesome!" Sam swooped in for a hug before Dean could get out a protest.

"So you can hug me but I can't hug you?" Dean understood why only one of those things would look suspicious, but still.

"I'm so happy for you!"

Dean couldn't hold it back anymore. "Don't be." And with that he recounted the entire clusterfark for Sam, complete with having no idea if Castiel was only there for the week and Zachariah's unfortunate coitus interruptus and job threat.

"So that's where we're at."

Somewhere in the middle of the whole mess the sun had set and the brothers had settled down onto the cheap plastic chairs they'd once garbage-picked and then used in their studio apartment back before the Gods of cable television had smiled on them.

Sam stared at him. "Dean, did you come here thinking I'd tell you not to go for this? Castiel seems like a pretty nice guy, and probably due for something good in his life right now. More importantly, if you're happy, that's really all I need."

"What about the show?" Dean knew what sort of attitude he was giving off. _I dare you to tell me this isn't a big deal. I dare you to tell me there's an easy answer. (Please.)_

Sam just shook his head. "You really think the show is worth this much hassle? I don't think either of us are going to have to hunt for a job after this, Dean. We might not be on tv, but people will hire us again. And despite a lot of pressure from the network you really did buy a sensible house."

It was true. After years of living from one bill to the next, Dean had no idea what to do with real money, or even how to trust it was real, so he mostly just kept the life he had before 'Family Business' and threw everything in the bank for three years, including payouts from a couple well-paying guest spots on other HOME shows. Other than fixing up the car his finances went into the house, which they'd bought for a not-half-bad price due to how much work Dean and his crew had to do on it to bring it up to code. Even the furnishings came mostly via an interior design show on the network. They'd used it as a challenge in their reality show competition. Dean had simply moved in a car load's worth of clothes and a few boxes of general life stuff and was done.

On the other hand, it was not a small bill every month. It was a commitment. And the things Dean committed to, other than his brother, they tended not to commit back. In the back of his mind he wondered if this was the reason he still looked at it suspiciously, like a house from an ep of Scooby Doo.

Dean stamped out his second or third (okay, third) cigarette of the evening. "I dunno… I just didn't want anything to happen without checking in with you first. It's not just my butt on the line with that contract. Zachariah kinda hinted that losing your job because your brother is caught in some kind of scandal might be a good reason for a guy to drink."

"Yeah, it would. But this doesn't sound like a scandal. And if I was the kind of guy who needed a reason I wouldn't be an alcoholic. If the sun rises in the East that's good enough for me."

Dean knew he didn't look sold. "If you say so."

His brother gave him a long, slow burn of a look.

"What?"

Sam looked down at his empty bottle. "I don't think that's what's really getting to you. At least, I don't think that's the only thing. Cas is… really different for you. I know it's not the guy thing, either."

If Sam had thought that would resolve the 'what the hell are you talking about' look on Dean's face, Dean proved him wrong.

The white, plastic seat creaked under the shifting weight as Sam put down his bottle and leaned in. "Look, Castiel is not just some random guy you might get caught with. He's clearly not a love 'em and leave 'em type. And from what you've told me, that's not what this is. I think you're nervous 'cause you're really into him but his life is so weird right now… It's like he hasn't landed yet. If he gets a job offer in Canada next month-"

"Canada? How the hell did Canadians get dragged into this?"

Sam had the grace to soften the blow with a sympathetic look. "Nerve strike, huh? Canada has ice skating teams too, Dean. When you think about it, coaching may be his only marketable skill right now. People would probably pay a lot of money for a former world champion to coach their kids."

Dean collapsed back in his chair, which creaked in complaint beneath him. "I hadn't thought of that."

Sam leaned back as well. "I'm just saying, maybe what's got you worried is that you could give your heart away for the first time in years and he could wind up in Manitoba."

"Thanks, Sam. That's cheered me right up."

"No worries. That's what I'm here for."

The chill was on the wind by then. It wasn't long before Dean had hugged his goodbye with Jess. He let Sam walk him out to the car knowing more very-special-episode-ness was in store. To be honest, Dean wanted it. He could use some sitcom-esque speech that made everything make sense.

They had their who-can-hug-harder competition by the car. Sam always won; whenever he started to lose he just picked Dean off the ground. Bitch.

"Hey, one last thing, Dean."

Yup, here it comes, Dean thought. "Yeah?"

"Try not to get us fired."

Well, that wasn't the Full House moment he'd hoped for. "Wait. You just said-"

"I said do what you need to to make it work with Cas, and I mean it. I do. But don't punch Zachariah in the mouth or anything. If they want to fire us over this, don't make it easy for them. Make them say it. If they're gonna pull this shit on us they should have to own it. And then they can just try to explain it to everyone."

Dean thought about that for a moment. He'd love nothing more than to cause a scene or punch someone's face in over all of this. But Sam had a point. "Yeah, that's fair."

"And Dean? Don't wait as long as I did with Jess. I got lucky."

"You got damn lucky."

With that, Dean had about as much little-brotherly advice as he could take for one night. He put on some Metallica, rolled down the windows, and tried to avoid anything that could be mistaken for thinking for as long as the drive would let him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

By the time Dean got back it was about 9:00. He walked through the front door with hesitation, wondering what he'd see.

"Cas?"

All was quiet in the house. Dean found his way to the kitchen where he found a note on the fridge.

_Dean, you've been robbed. They took all your groceries. Out for more – Cas_

Dean grinned. "Snarky. Nice."

At that moment, the side door opened. Cas looked up from the bags he held like he'd been caught in the act, an embarrassed, dyslexic burglar. "You're home."

"Just got in. What you got there?"

"Dinner."

Dean would later claim he was kidding, but he immediately started looking through the bags for take-out. "Oh yeah? What'd you get, Chinese?"

Castiel looked him over for a moment. "I don't understand. Are you kidding?"

Dean looked down at the bag again. Meat still wrapped in cellophane, vegetables in vegetable form, apples…

Oh. Real food.

Dean shrugged it off. "Yeah. 'Course. Totally."

Castiel put down his bags, his shoulders drooping. "It's worse than I thought." With that, he began to empty the bags and lay things out on the counter around him. "We'll start with something basic, braised ox-tails and mirpoix."

Dean stepped in behind where Castiel set about pulling out Dean's unused cutting board and some knives. "Sometime you should tell me what the word 'basic' means in your world." He punctuated this by kissing and nipping at Castiel's neck from behind.

The knife froze in mid-air over the carrots. "It isn't good to disturb the chef when he's chopping."

Dean scratched at Castiel's neck with his teeth. "Chop slower. I've been looking forward to this all day." He slipped his arms around Castiel's svelte frame and watched the man's tapered fingers over his shoulder. The warmth from the burner going full blast under a large pot on the stove top and the smell of cooking olive oil was starting to go straight to Dean's domestic side. Which apparently was in his pants.

Castiel's voice lowered to something intimate that made one think of either sex or graveyards, or possibly sex in a graveyard. "If you insist. Mirpoix is a combination of chopped celery, carrots, and onions. Now that the Dutch oven is hot enough, we're going to sear the meat." Doing a damn fine job of acting as if Dean wasn't getting to a few bases while all this was happening, Castiel unwrapped the meat and set it to cook. "We'll leave it there for ten minutes."

"No way it cooks in that time."

Castiel turned in Dean's arms to look him in the eyes, his lashes only a few inches from Dean's own. "Do you trust me?"

Dean felt his throat close. Castiel's look was so raw, so vulnerable… It took a moment before Dean could answer. "I trust you, Cas." For that he was kissed. This was the long, deep kiss he'd been waiting for all day.

Castiel finally pulled back. "I trust you too, Dean." He turned back to the counter to start chopping as if nothing had happened. "We're not cooking the meat now, we're just browning it. Later, in the oven, it will be hot enough to cook but not enough to brown."

Dean rested his head on Castiel's shoulder. He was interested now, but he still couldn't take his hands off Cas to let him work. This was as close as he could get to pretending he had a bodily need other than sex on his mind. "Where'd you learn all this? I don't think it'd win you any points from the Russian judge or anything."

Castiel's hands paused again over his task. "My mother taught me."

"Oh." Dean stopped his R-rated explorations at that. He wrapped Castiel in the most supportive embrace he could offer and kissed his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It reminds me of her. My parents were very… traditional. After having five sons she's assumed she'd have no one to teach all that she knew to, so we made it a routine. Whenever I was back from training she'd take the time to go over something with me. She thought I was her best chance of passing it on to some grandkids one day."

Castiel washed his hands at that. His voice grew cold. "I can't imagine how much I disappointed her."

Dean leaned back from the now tense muscles in Castiel's frame. "Why? Sounds like she really loved you."

"She also loved the idea of seeing me with children of my own. She had no idea my life would preclude such things."

"Dude, what are you talking about? You can always adopt." In that moment an entire life for Castiel flashed before Dean's eyes. Something sweet with kids and family meals and a dog. And some goofy guy who made Castiel laugh and never made him sleep in the backyard. They'd go to Mexico on their honeymoon and bring back a sombrero that someone would have to wear on the flight home to avoid baggage fees. Then they'd hang it on their bedroom wall and smile whenever they saw it – the care-free love of people who didn't have everything they leaned on collapse as soon as it was tested.

It was a life Dean could only wreck. He was paid to fix the homes of those people, not live in them. "Cas, you have so many damn options in front of you right now and it's like you don't even fucking see it. It pisses me off."

Castiel looked up at that. His eyes held that quizzical, 'your Earth ways confuse me' look again. "Why?"

_Because it reminds me you're only here by default. _

"It just does! You don't have a job that makes you lie in public, you don't have a mortgage. You can pick up and see the world if you want and you're here with me."

"Yes, I am."

Castiel's expectant stare gave Dean the impression he was waiting for something to sink in. Whatever it was, it wasn't coming in for a landing anytime soon.

Dean grabbed a piece of celery and chomped out some of his anger. "How long is this gonna take?"

Cue taken, Castiel looked back to the food. "Two or three hours. This isn't for tonight, it's for tomorrow night when I'm at work. Something for you to reheat without me. I assumed you had something with your brother tonight."

"I did." Dean ran his hands over Castiel's chest and opened the buttons there. Thanks to a small bout of happiness-induced insanity he'd forgotten about the fact Castiel worked nights. Dean didn't need a mirror to know some of the light in his eyes shut down at the reminder. "Smells great, Cas."

He watched as Castiel carefully used tongs to turn the ox-tails to cook on the other side. Every step he took was so studied, so precise. So everything Dean was not… Dean had an uncontrollable urge to derail things. If he was gonna crash and burn no matter what he at least wanted control right up to the end. "So what are your plans after this?"

Apparently Castiel was now used to the distractions Dean presented. He chopped the celery with quick, even strokes. "After what?"

"You know, Los Angeles."

It was comforting to Dean to see his hands pause at that. "Am I going somewhere, Dean?"

Dean pulled back from Cas. He felt the overwhelming desire for a beer, the one item in Castiel's grocery bags he'd had no trouble identifying the many uses for. Even a warm one would give him something to do with his hands besides grab at something he couldn't keep. "You know what I mean. I don't want to come home one day to find out you've run off to Winitoba or something."

That earned Dean a look, though a not altogether unkind one. "You mean Winnipeg or Manitoba, I take it?"

"Yeah, you know. Skating country."

Castiel put down the knife and faced Dean, that raw as fuck look settling over his features again. "Dean, I honestly don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing. And that hasn't been true for me since I was four." He looked back to the chopping block. "I'm sorry I can't give you definitive answers right now."

Dean hated the disappointment in Castiel's voice almost as much as he hated the fact he'd put it there. He pulled in close again. "Hey, no pressure. I just don't want to come home to another note."

The gravel returned to Castiel's voice. "And I don't want to wake up to one again."

With a quick hand, Dean grabbed a piece of carrot to snack on and laughed. "Sorry, my bad. I forgot you had tonight off and I didn't want to mess up your sleep schedule. Stop me if I'm being a chick, but anyone ever tell you you look like an angel when you sleep?"

This brought a color to Castiel's cheeks that Dean knew had nothing to do with the heat. Cas took out and plated the ox-tails and rinsed the large pot with red wine. "It has been commented on before." He swept the vegetables into the pan with sure, quick movements. "Though, if I remember correctly, your pitch did involve something about not sleeping outdoors…"

"Well, let's see if I can't make it up to you."

There was nothing more to cut now. Castiel had a wooden spoon in hand to move things around in the pot, but nothing sharp. Dean took the opportunity to pour Castiel a glass of the red wine and moved in tight behind him again. He pulled Castiel's shirt from his jeans with long, exaggerated movements, all while trailing kisses on his neck again. It had worked before, and it was working now.

Castiel let his head tip to the side, as clear an invitation as Dean had ever seen. Dean had never wanted to brand a man so much in his life. He gripped Castiel's hips in strong hands and began to raise a mark on his neck. He enjoyed the way Castiel's breath hitched at the sudden intensity.

A somewhat lazy hand reached up to the back of his neck to encourage him. "Dean, would you have really hunted me down if I had walked off last night? After what I overheard?"

Dean finished his work knowing it would be there for at least a day, if not more. He placed a kiss on top to sooth any residual pain. "Yeah, I would've. But I probably would've pussied out on kidnapping you and just made sure you made it to a motel or something." He kept a firm hand on one of Castiel's hips and ground into him from behind. He'd never been big on grinding before but something about Cas made even the little steps feel like certified big fucking deals, perhaps because each one sent shockwaves through Castiel's body. Dean could watch his muscles twitch as the ricochet of pleasure darted through him. Every touch wasn't just a discovery with Castiel. It was an invention. _So this is what taking it slow is like. A guy could get used to this._

Cas pulled away long enough to transfer the meat and leftover wine to the pot and the pot to the oven. He then turned back to Dean with the same hyper intense look in his eyes that he'd had the night before. He looked down to the raised fabric over Dean's groin. Then, without lifting his head, he looked back up to Dean's face again, all eyes. "I believe the expression is 'Don't point that thing at me unless you plan to shoot.'"

Oh, hell yeah, he did. But first Dean took another drag off his beer. They didn't have forever, but they could have this. "Oh, I do. Trust me. But I got my rocks off last night. Tonight it's your turn."

Dean pulled Castiel close at that. After another long kiss that practically dared Castiel to keep up with the pace he was setting, Dean turned Cas back towards the counter. He slipped his hand down to undo Castiel's jeans and push down his boxer-briefs. This time, when he pulled his hand away, it was only for long enough to get it wet under the faucet for a moment and then slick with the dish soap. Then he set to work.

He watched Castiel in fascination. Every movement caused a tremor or a response somewhere in his body. Either his eyes closed or his head arched back. Dean savored the feeling of Castiel's hips pushing back against him, insisting he too enjoy the ride.

"_Cas, open your eyes."_

Cas tipped his head to Dean. To Dean it looked like Castiel was reading him, able to lay his soul bare with his deep blue eyes alone. It was easy to see he wanted was more than sex. For Castiel, it would be nothing less than communion.

Dean stopped playing with the other man's chest long enough to use his free hand to turn Castiel's face away from him, a move Cas's hypnotic eyes only reluctantly complied with. Dean then had the chance to direct Cas's attention to the image that had been burning him up for the last half hour. _"Look."_

Cas looked up and saw what Dean had seen as soon as he'd stepped up behind him: the window above the counter looking out into the back yard. Steam had softened the edges, and reflected in it were Cas and Dean. Together. And it was gorgeous.

Castiel gripped the counter tighter now, holding on as if his remaining upright depended on it. _"Dean…"_ When he turned his face back to Dean and closed his eyes, Dean knew he wasn't long for the world.

_"Come on, Cas. I got you…"_

When the final reaction came it wasn't what Dean expected. He preferred to give out long, slow strokes through the finale. Really seal the deal. But Castiel's body arched back against him so suddenly, with so much faith Dean would be there to catch him… It was all Dean could do to capture the flurry of movement and hold the other man up. Castiel had started to yell his name but Dean covered Castiel's mouth with his own as fast as instinct. It was a primal impulse, but Dean needed to plant something of his own over the moment. _This came from me, you got that? Me. No matter where you've been, or wherever the fuck you go, tonight you were mine. _

Castiel finally looked up at him again, a picture of utter wreckage. Pupils blown. Face flushed. Lips parted and swollen. His body was so pliant in Dean's embrace it was too much vulnerability for Dean to comprehend. He slid his back down against the fridge behind them and took Castiel's spent body with him. Seated on the cold, ceramic tile together Dean did what he'd wanted to do since the moment he'd clapped eyes on the other man. He wrapped Castiel's body with his own for protection, all arms and legs and the scars that had taught Dean no one was ever supposed to be this vulnerable on purpose.

Of course Castiel couldn't know that yet. He'd only just landed. It was just his bad luck he landed in front of Dean.

Dean tipped his head down and pushed their foreheads together. When he couldn't take the never-ending trust in Castiel's blue eyes he closed his own. His breath was more labored than he'd expected from a hand job, escaping him in pants. But Dean knew his arms couldn't give out now for all his exhaustion. Not when wrapped around his prince, his alien from the far off world where men love you and never leave.

Dean could hear the clock counting down to when reality would bitch-slap him in the face over this, but for tonight at least a man as good as or better than any his world could ever produce had fallen under his protection. No matter what else happened in the future nothing could ever change that fact.

_Not even if you go to fucking Canada. _

_.  
_

* * *

_.  
_

Castiel wouldn't have minded being swept off to Dean's bedroom after that, or perhaps even to Never Never Land, but Dean had been determined. He threw Castiel over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and dropped him on the bed in the guest bedroom.

"You're the one that wanted to take it slow, Cas."

After a lot more kissing and grabbing and putting one foot over the line into the territory of 'something more,' Dean finally muttered something about not everyone having a night job and tore himself away. The man ran so hot and cold sometimes Castiel wondered how he didn't go shock.

The next morning Cas woke up in a strange room. He was getting used to that. A strange room in the house of the man he'd had a horrible, all-consuming crush on for weeks.

That he'd never get used to.

Castiel knew without checking the time it was still early. Years of getting up at four for practice had left his body with the idea a 6:30 wake up was positively gluttonous. Even after his late nights his body still preferred to wake with the dawn and then just crash in the afternoon. Without practice or studies to take up his time afternoons didn't make much sense to him anyway.

Rather than head straight for the shower, he decided to check if there was still time for him to contribute a breakfast to his host's daily meal allotment. He was pretty sure at this point he wasn't there just because Dean was a 'leave no man behind' type who couldn't abide his friend sleeping in a tent. Last night's generous activities – both the hand job and carrying him off to bed – had put an end to that line of reasoning. But Castiel still wondered what exactly he was doing there. Was he here until the tent came down or what?

He knew what this wasn't but he still had no idea what it was.

Until he knew more, he decided to do what his family had taught him and make himself the perfect guest. For most hosts, that would mean asking leading questions around the dinner table and making all the right noises as they boasted of their family's accomplishments. What Castiel missed in social skills he more than made up in graces. He knew he was the sort of friend you could leave your grandmother talking to at a wedding reception without any fear of things running off track. It was a skill developed through years of living at the homes of different coaches and partners. He'd been a guest at Anna's family estate for years while they'd trained on her private rink. He'd had his own room and an impressive amount of privacy, all things considered. But he'd still always lived with the knowledge he was a guest, a stranger, and that he was expected to be a perfect one.

With Dean he decided on a different track of earning his keep, such as showing him how to feed himself meals made out of actual ingredients.

Castiel pulled a t-shirt over his head and padded out to the kitchen, barefoot in his pajama bottoms. He could just hear Dean's alarm going off in the other bedroom. Good timing.

He opened the fridge and set to work removing bread, eggs, milk, butter, and sausage links. It wasn't long before Dean settled into his place from last night, standing behind him.

"Nice! You tryin' to fatten me up so no one else will want me?"

Castiel cracked an egg into a mixing bowl. "If I said yes, would that scare you?"

He knew he had a voice that made people think he was as serious as the grave, but Castiel couldn't help but try for a few dry, sardonic comments from time to time. He was surprised by the serious look Dean gave his question.

Cas was just about to explain his joke when Dean spoke up. "Honestly, I have no idea. But keep cooking like this and I'll find my way to an answer real fast."

Castiel felt his face flush at that. Another awkward moment saved by the fact Dean still thought he'd fallen out of the sky just for him. It was an idea he was in no hurry to discount.

Dean grinned. "Hey, can you teach me to make tomato rice soup some time?"

Castiel buttered the pan. "I don't have a recipe for that. I can find one for you, though. Why?"

"Nothin.' It's just that's what my mom made whenever I was sick. You never see it in diners and I want to see if it's like I remember. 'Course I haven't had it since I was four, so…"

Castiel blushed a bit. "I would enjoy that very much." He marveled that Dean could share such intimate details about his life one minute and then the next slam doors in Castiel's face that Cas hadn't even known were there.

He buttered a slice of toast and added a pinch of cinnamon. "Eat this." He put it in Dean's mouth before he could object, first extracting a payment kiss. "It'll feed your brain. Help you find those answers you're looking for."

Castiel looked away before he could make the situation anymore tense than it already was. 6:30 in the morning was no one's best time for decision making, and Castiel still felt like if he pushed his luck with Dean the entire situation might explode.

Situations had been exploding a lot around him lately.

It was why he should've been nervous when he heard the doorbell ring.

As Dean crossed to answer Castiel couldn't help but try another attempt at humor. "Should I make more?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely. But for me, not for them." Dean had the door open in a moment and Castiel could tell by the way his shoulders stiffened it was bad news.

_.  
_

* * *

_._

Becky stood outside and offered a small wave. "Hey, Dean. Can I come in?"

Dean moved to physically block the door from opening any further. "You seriously call this an acceptable hour for a visit?"

"Not really. I just had some notes from the network. They want you to focus a little on the interior design elements today. They feel like they don't know what the inside's going to look like yet."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that all?"

Becky at least had the self-awareness to look chastised at that. "No. I have a note for Castiel, too."

Dean knew he was bluffing, but 6:30 in the morning wasn't a good time for brinksmanship. "And why would I care about that?"

Becky looked up and down the road, as if for inspiration. Finally, she hit upon a point she could still make with some honor in this messed up situation. "Dean, have I ever given you the impression I'm like Zachariah? Because I'd honestly like to know if I did. And apologize."

Dean could've held out, feeling the chill in the air always brought out the fighter in him. But Becky was so damned earnest. Like the idea of being confused with Zachariah was honestly on her 'rather die a hot, fiery death first' list. "No, Becky, you haven't."

She stumbled on before Dean could apologize further. "Good. I'm the one who caught the addition to your Wiki page. And I noticed the tent isn't set up at the site anymore."

_Damn_. They say when you commit a murder you're smart if you only miss twenty things, a certifiable genius if you only miss ten. Dean had hoped he'd at least had enough street smarts to get away with whatever this was without leaving quite so many clues in his wake. Why not just go to the post office and have Castiel's mail forwarded to his house?

"Hey, Becky, why don't you come on in. You're freezing your ass off out there."

Becky gave him an I-see-what-you-did-there smile and a "Thanks," as she stepped inside.

_.  
_

* * *

_._

Castiel looked up from the frying pan. "Are we busted?" He knew enough about Becky at this point to guess at the answer but he still felt a chill run through him that had nothing to do with how long the door had been open.

She only grinned. "First rule of being a P.A.: You see nothing, you know nothing."

He offered her as reassuring a smile as he could work up considering he felt one giant leap closer to costing his new best friend his dream job. "Coffee?"

"That'd be great, thanks." She took the cup and leaned against the counter, watching him cook. "The network would like you on site today as well. They'd like your reaction to the reno. To be honest, I think some of them have figured out you're kind of a big deal."

Castiel couldn't help but offer a smile. "That's the nicest I've ever heard anyone describe a washed-up pairs skater. For that, you get eggs." He dished her out a small portion while plating the meal for himself and Dean.

Becky sniffed the air after trying the eggs. "Do I smell ox tails?"

Castiel would have liked to pretend he didn't appreciate that, but it would've been a horrible lie. "We braised some last night with mirpoix."

Becky looked around at the kitchen. "Dean, you have a Dutch oven! I'm impressed!"

Dean looked up. "The pot? Oh yeah. That was a housewarming gift form…"

Castiel muttered under his breath. "Wait for it…"

Dean's face scrunched in confusion. "Hang on, when I did I get a Dutch oven?"

A grin slipped across Castiel's face. "Yesterday. It's from me, to thank you for letting me stay here."

"Oh." Dean looked wary for a moment. "Dude, what did I tell you? Not letting your friend sleep in a yard is just common decency. You didn't have to thank me. Not with a fancy, Dutch… thing."

Becky looked over the new addition to the kitchen. "Five quarts? Nice."

Castiel put down his plate. "It's not, really. It's only fire-rated to four-hundred degrees. I took the liberty of assuming Dean wouldn't do any baking."

She grinned. "You know your stuff."

Now it was a blush that crept into Castiel's features. "My mother knew her stuff. I just picked up a few things."

Dean stepped further into the kitchen and picked up his plate. "What's the milk out for?"

"The eggs."

Castiel had no idea why Dean was giving him a 'two plus two equals Cleveland' look. "What d'ya mean, the eggs? Eggs are made out of eggs. Even I know that."

"Yes, Dean, eggs are made out of eggs. But milk thickens the scramble."

Castiel enjoyed watching Dean fake already having this knowledge. "Oh, right. And the butter?"

Castiel felt Becky give him a 'can you believe him?' look but felt it impolitic to return it. "For the pan, Dean. It's better than spray or margarine."

"And better for you too. Right?"

Castiel looked away, as if caught in a bribe. "I don't believe I said that. Do you know nothing about the ingredients that go into your food?"

Throwing back a sausage link, Dean scoffed. "'Course I do! I know all about ingredients. They're listed on the side of the box."

"What box?"

Dean shrugged. "All of them."

It really was worse than Castiel had thought.

Dean seemed to pick up on this. "When we were kids our dad took Sammy and me all over the country hunting up construction work. If it couldn't be cooked in the microwave we carted from one motel to another, I have no idea how to make it. So just talk to me like I'm two about this stuff, I promise not to take it personal."

Castiel didn't know what to say to that and couldn't help but look to Becky for a social cue.

Becky had a funny look on her face. Castiel could almost hear the gears turning in her mind. He wasn't sure why, but he assumed that couldn't lead anywhere good. "Let's just put the rest away for later." He quickly set to work packing everything away. "Apparently, we both have a job to get ready for."

He was about to leave the kitchen when Becky shook herself free from either a food or something-else related stupor. "You can ride in my car, Cas."

Castiel nodded at that. Another complication he hadn't thought of.

Becky continued. "Oh, and, you know, maybe wear something with a high collar."

She said it so casually it took Castiel a moment to realize what she was referring to. "Oh, right. Thank you." After the formal thanks he beat a retreat from the room as fast as possible. It was too much to hope for that they hadn't seen him blush.

_.  
_

* * *

_._

The next week passed peaceably, but not as well as Dean would've liked. Each day he came home from work with a knot in his gut. He pushed through the door wondering what he'd find: Cas making dinner, gone to work (his schedule seemed to change every day thanks to some emergency or another, fucking service jobs), or just plain gone.

Dean knew if Cas was ever just gone he'd probably throw a bunch of shit. What the hell, if you can't throw a rock star tantrum in your own damn house why buy one? He also knew if Cas was ever gone he'd be happy for him. Song birds don't belong in cages and guys like Cas don't belong with guys like Dean, guys who find a way to run off or just plain lose everyone who gets too close.

Schrodinger's cat, that's what this was. All the answers were real until Dean opened the door and walked through. It gave Dean one moment everyday where he realized all the possibilities had something terrible about them. Either Cas would be gone or Dean would be one step closer to doing whatever it took to lock him down. Gay wedding in Vermont, drawbridge, dungeon… If Dean's self-restraint ever called in sick anything was possible. Castiel was an entirely strange and beautiful creature in Dean's life and Dean did not want to share him with the world, not without some sort of claim of ownership, much the same way a kid with a new toy writes his name on it before bringing it to show and tell. Because otherwise… Dean knew enough about good things to know they disappear.

That's just what they do.

The least bad option, Cas home and cooking dinner, soon came to pass. "Hi, honey. I'm home!" Dean offered his best rakish grin as he kicked off his muddy work boots near the door. The city was experiencing one of its two rainy months – which in SoCal just means it is slightly less absurd to think it might rain. Still, despite how it looked in the movies, rain did happen from time to time.

Castiel grinned at him from the kitchen, a frying pan full of bacon in his hand. God bless open plan living. "You're later than usual. I expected you earlier. Not that I've ever been here for this blessed event…"

Dean padded into the kitchen. "What can I say? Los Angeles is the only city in the world where people blow past film shoots but freak the hell out when it rains. Then they drive like Grannies. What's for dinner?"

"First, you're going to kiss me. Then I may or may not tell you about dinner. It depends entirely on if I'm kissed to my personal satisfaction."

Oh yeah. Castiel definitely got the 'your bossy voice goes straight to my dick' memo.

"Is that right?" Dean took the pan from Castiel's hand and put it down (not without first taking a sniff of the glorious goodness that is sizzling bacon). He then turned back to Cas. "Well, alright then."

One minute and fourteen seconds later they both pulled away from each other for air. Castiel put a hand to his lips, as if to check they were still attached. "That was… expressive."

Dean grinned. "You get extra for bacon."

Castiel blushed and went back to his work with the frying pan. "If only I had known… I think this is the happiest I've ever seen you."

Stepping in behind Cas, Dean retook his favorite spot: hands on Castiel's waist, lips on his neck. "What are you talking about? You make me happy."

"I make you scared, Dean."

Dean didn't like how that was stated, like a fact, like something he hadn't done nearly enough to hide. "Yeah, well, scared is a kind of happy." He took nips at Castiel's neck to change the mood.

"If you say so." Castiel began to turn the fire back on and flipped bacon to cook on its other side.

Current needs met, Dean started to become aware of the room around him. This included noting the music playing on iPod speakers, slow and soulful. "What's this?"

"John Lee Hooker. 'I Cover the Waterfront.'"

Dean thought it matched the rain striking against the window perfectly. "Nice. My guy is a blues man. I can get into that." Dean didn't know enough about blues to dislike it and refused to become one of those music snobs that make it a point of pride to dislike anything they aren't already into. He knew as a genre it wasn't silly or pre-packaged to the point of death. That was enough to gain his respect.

He pulled himself up closer to Cas again. "So what's it about, this song?"

Castiel plated the bacon on a paper towel, smacking Dean's hand away when Dean grabbed for some. Then he relented and fed Dean half of a strip by hand. "It's about a man who goes to the harbor every day to watch people come off the ships. His lover has left him and he's waiting for them to come back."

Dean finished his bacon. "It's good. The song, I mean." Dean could hear how flat his voice had gone. He rubbed his forehead into Castiel's unkempt black hair and let the music and the sound of the rain fill the kitchen. At least he now knew what song he'd get drunk to the night he came home to find Castiel gone.

"Pandora has provided me with an excellent musical education." Castiel started to smash the bacon between the paper towels.

"Hey, that's my dinner!"

Castiel smiled again at last. "After it's in pieces I'm adding it to the mashed potatoes for the shepherd's pie."

"Shepherd's pie, is that the one with ground meat and veggies inside and the potatoes on top?"

"Bonus point for applied knowledge, Mr. Winchester." Castiel added the crinkled bacon pieces to a bowl of mashed potatoes and began piling the final product on top of a half-full casserole dish. "They'll need some time to cook in the oven together. About twenty minutes or so."

Castiel turned back to look at him with a look in his eyes that clearly said _'I bet you know what we can do until then.' _

"Yeah? That's not too long. We probably shouldn't leave the kitchen then." Dean pulled Castiel even closer and began doing all the things he'd looked forward to all day. His hands roamed over Castiel's form the way they always did, eager, determined to prove as often as needed that this mass of sinew and bone had really crawled out of Dean's hopes and into his kitchen.

In looking over their relationship, it had occurred to Dean that a hand job wasn't really equal to a blow job, which put him decidedly in his guest's debt. It was a proven fact that Dean's reputation could take a lot of damage, but 'bad host' or 'greedy lover' were two criticism he would not let go unchallenged.

Dean fell to one knee and started by nosing Castiel's hardened length through the denim of his jeans. He thrilled at the way Cas's body quivered each time he found just the right amount of pressure to shoot waves of sensation through the body in front of him.

He grinned up at Castiel as he pulled away long enough to undo the button of the jeans and pull the zipper with excruciating carefulness that was only in part revenge for the torturous way Castiel had worked him into a frenzy the night they'd slept under the stars (the other part was because working metal teeth around an erection is serious business).

The awestruck look Castiel gave Dean for his initiative was worth the pain in his knee. Dean responded with the mischievous grin his fans knew so well. _Yeah, you scare me. You scare the shit outta me. But I spook you too and you damn well know it._

When Dean placed his firm hands on Castiel's hips to brace his body for all that was to come, Castiel muttered a soft 'Thank you.' Dean couldn't tell if it was for the act or the tacit lesson in fellatio 101. He'd wonder about that later, but for now he had something else on his mind.

The cock in front of him was a thing of beauty. Dean hadn't really gotten much of a look at it the last time they turned up the heat in the kitchen, and now that he could see it its gorgeousness was downright distracting. The veins pumping up the side were like something Michelangelo might've sculpted, and knowing him sure would've wanted to. Only the feel of Castiel's hand in his hair brought Dean back to reality enough to begin.

He started with a few long licks up the side, then worked the tip in earnest. His eyes closed, Dean could hear and feel every reaction to his movements. He then took Cas as deeply as he could. He alternated between pulling with his mouth and giving a slight hum, each offered and accepted with equal fervor. Dean felt like Castiel was opening up before him, a book or a gift meant only for Dean. More than that, Dean felt like his every action was opening Castiel up to himself, that he was giving Cas the knowledge that his body and all these pleasures had been there for him all this time and would be there for all the times to come.

Dean could've sworn Castiel was getting close. The noises Cas was making were so filthy and produced such an effect Dean wasn't sure he wouldn't be far behind, even with his sore knee and his hands otherwise occupied. That was why he was surprised when Castiel's hand stopped carding his hair and tapped his shoulder.

He looked up to Castiel. For a second, nothing else mattered. People looked different when they had sex. The changes could be subtle but they were always there. In Castiel, it brought back to his blue eyes the raw, hyper-focused look he'd worn the moment they first saw each other, the look of falling from a gruesome height. Dean could've stared into that look forever and never realized the time.

The long, tapered fingers of Castiel cupped Dean's chin and raised him to stand. So hypnotized was Dean by the look on Cas's face he didn't, couldn't, even wonder why Castiel had stopped him so near to the goal. Castiel then kissed Dean's cheek and then moved to his mouth and offered the long kiss of gratitude Dean had taught him the week before. Dean used the time to dredge his mind back up from the deep, primal place it had been.

Before he could ask why things had stopped, Castiel sought revenge on Dean's neck for all the little nips that had come before. He worked his way up to Dean's ear. "You should take me to your bedroom now, Dean."

Man, Dean loved that voice. "Yeah? What about dinner?" He used the moment to run his hands over Castiel's chest and through his hair, everywhere he couldn't touch when he was on his knees.

Castiel ran his tongue, wet and impossibly warm, over Dean's ear. "I can turn the oven off. I want you to take me like you do your other lovers."

Dean's hands stopped their explorations. "What about taking it slow?" He was talking into Cas' ear now, avoiding eye-contact in the most legit way he could think of.

But Castiel was having none of that. He leaned back enough to stare Dean down. "I've lived with you for a week now, Dean. Your restraint has been appreciated. It's time for your lack of restraint to be appreciated."

His eyes still had that searchlight quality to them, the one that made Dean's breath catch in his throat. "That's great, Cas. But I haven't showered-"

"You taste like the rain."

Dean closed his eyes as Castiel began kissing his cheek. They were modest kisses but he knew they led to an immodest destination, like the three black dots at the end of a sentence that implied everything to come. The ease with which all the things they connoted could happen terrified Dean.

He pulled away and rubbed his neck with his hand. "And mud. And sweat. And plaster. I'm probably carcinogenic right now." He faked a chuckle at that and almost believed it. "If you don't want me to finish you, then I should hit the showers before we eat."

When he looked up Castiel had a broken look on his face, the incredulous pause of someone who knew what all the words he'd just heard meant but hoped an instant replay would offer a less devastating conclusion.

It didn't. Dean watched Cas's eyes turn down to the floor. "Of course." He turned back to the sink, tucked his unsatisfied, fading erection away in his jeans and started in on the dishes.

At the sight of such sad resignation the resolve in Dean's chest tore near apart. Sure Cas deserved better, and would probably put that together for himself before too long. And when he did, the look Cas would give Dean if he took him like this, against his better judgment, the _'you must not be the man I assumed you were'_ look, would damn near kill Dean.

But before it damn near killed him they could have this. He could take Cas back to his bedroom right now and break the last bit of protection he had to offer. His bedroom had a sliding door to the back yard; they could open it and fuck to the sound of the rain, the smell of it mixing with the smell of the wet Earth in the yard and with the scent of their own bodies.

His resolve wasn't dead yet, however. Dean turned and headed for the bathroom as fast as he could without giving Castiel the impression he was running away. Which, of course, he was.

_.  
_

* * *

_._

Dean took care of as much of his business in the shower as he could. He even ran it cold just before he stepped out to really lock things down. He had no idea if this tactic worked – his life had not often involved avoiding sex. Barring a few spouses on home construction jobs who'd held rather loose interpretations of their marriage vows, Dean had never needed to duck and cover when the possibility for sex came up before.

In a move that surprised him as much as anyone, he'd even found time in the shower to work in some thinking. He was so excited with the idea that had crossed his mind he stepped out of the bathroom and made straight for Cas without even getting dressed again – a short towel wrapped around his waist instead.

Castiel shot him a pointed look as he approached. "Dean, I'm grateful to be a guest in your house. Don't think I'm not. But what's my one rule?"

"No blasphemy during blow jobs?"

Castiel blushed at this. "Fair point. My one other rule." He looked over Dean's wet and very-close-to-naked body. "Don't point anything at me unless you plan to shoot."

Dean and his enthusiasm came to a halt. "What'd I do now?"

With another look over his slick skin, Castiel made his point. "If I can't have it, Dean, please don't make me look at it. My own restraint is not limitless."

Dean looked down. Like Adam in the garden he realized he was naked. "Oh. Sorry. That's my bad." He scurried back to his room and emerged in a t-shirt and sweat pants. No matter how badly he wanted to impress Castiel, when Dean got home after a long day on the job – especially one that had involved rain – it was t-shirt and sweats time. No force on Earth could change that.

He could see Castiel's relief at his clothed reappearance. _Score another point for yourself, Einstein. Next time why not just drop the towel and do a little dance?_

Still, his new idea kept him from feeling like a dick for too long. "Sorry about that. But I think I solved our problem."

Castiel began to set dinner on the table. "What problem is that?"

"You, me, the whole us problem."

"My only problem is that you have a problem, Dean. Something I won't pretend to understand." It didn't take radar to pick up on the fact his recent rejection pained Castiel like an open wound.

Dean forced Cas to face him. "Well, you're about to. I think the reason this hasn't felt right is because I haven't earned it yet. Worked up to it, you know?" Before Cas could open his mouth, Dean hurried on. "And, so help me Cas, don't you dare say I have. Two rides home and giving you a place to crash does not make me Mother Theresa. Especially when every time I see you my dick gets hard enough to pound nails. I don't know what this is, but it ain't exactly charity."

Stunned by these last statements, Castiel seemed to struggle to find his voice. "I… can understand why it does not seem like a significant sacrifice to you, even if I disagree. Please continue."

"Good." Dean stepped in closer, peace restored. "Because I want you so much it keeps me up nights. It's just… Poppin' your cherry is a big fucking deal. It'd kill me if I fucked this up for you."

Dean leaned in to punctuate his statement with his lips but Cas pulled back. "I relinquished my virgin status to you over a week ago, Dean."

"What are you counting?"

"I count everything."

At that Castiel looked so earnest Dean decided they could argue what did and did not count as sex later. "Well, you count everything then. But this is still a big deal. I wanna do right by you." _So when you leave I can hate the world and not myself for being an asshole._

Dean would still hate himself for being someone everyone left, but he'd done that for years. That was a wash.

"So I was thinking we should find a way to do some actual, honest-to-God dating first."

Castiel's blue eyes widened in horror. "Dean-"

Dean cut him off. "Nothing public, Cas, just more than this. Right now whenever we have time together we just make out, fool around, and pass out."

Castiel's voice was so low Dean almost didn't hear it. "I haven't complained."

It was all Dean could do to keep from jumping Cas when he got that mischievous look on his face. _Dammitallsomuch…_ "Yeah, well maybe you should. You know your brother has a theory that you make people either want to own you or protect you. I'm just trying to stay on the right side of this."

Castiel began kissing him on the neck again. If there were relationship Gods anywhere in the world, Dean was sure they'd flag that play. It was entirely unfair. "Did you never think you could just do both? I trust you, Dean."

Dean pushed him back. "Thanks. I don't."

He tipped his head down to Castiel's again. Their relationship, such as it was, had developed one signal and it was this: _I'm putting my head against yours and not kissing you because I'm serious. I'm so serious I'm resorting to fucking telepathy and osmosis._ "I don't wanna mess with what we have until I know we can handle it, okay?"

Castiel nodded at this. "I think I understand now. Thank you for the explanation. Your behavior makes much more sense now."

"My behavior?"

Castiel looked away for a moment. "You can be very… hot and cold. It's made it difficult to understand your intentions."

Looking back over the last week, Dean could see how giving a guy a hand job and then literally throwing him into the guest room could be considered 'mixed signals.'

He looked down at the awesome-smelling dinner on the table beside them. "Well, now you know. So let's start with dinner." Dean made an elaborate gesture out of sitting down to in front of a plate and tucking a napkin into his shirt. "Food smells great. Why don't you tell me about your day? And, you know, your life up to about a month ago."

His guest grinned just a little at that offer as he sat down. "That might take a while."

"I haven't got anything better to do. Besides it's raining out. What am I gonna do, go for a jog?"

"Fair point." And with that, Castiel started to talk.

It would not take long for Dean to realize Castiel said more to him in that one dinner than in their entire relationship up to that point. He wasn't sure it would be the answer he was looking for, but it was an answer. And it was one he'd been missing.

_.  
_

* * *

_._

On that night, the night of the official first date, Dean learned a lot about Castiel. More importantly, he learned he loved the way Castiel really listened to his take on things. Most people had trouble taking Dean seriously due to either his rough language (which had been much harder to keep off camera than anything else he was hiding) or his what-the-hell attitude. Unless he was running a job he never came off as serious – serious for Dean usually involved drama and/or the occasional hospital visit.

The blowback for taking so many things lightly is most people considered him an all-around awesome dude, but no one you'd go to for advice on major life changes or anything.

Cas didn't have that problem. He laid his life open for Dean and took everything Dean wanted to say about it as a serious consideration. It was like talking to Sam back before Sam realized being a big brother didn't really mean you knew everything.

Dean hadn't realized how much he'd missed being listened to.

Along the way he learned Cas had spent the last two years working on a degree in theology from a minor Christian college back in Oklahoma, where his family was. He was allergic to bananas and did not consider himself in any way bisexual (Dean made it clear he was and Cas took it well. Some guys were so insecure about dating bisexuals they treated running into single women like bumping into a rogue spy from a terrorist state. Awkward). He learned Cas considered it a sin to treat sex with anything less than the respect due a gift from God, but he knew sexuality could be treated with respect outside of marriage (and without respect inside of it), so he didn't have a problem with sex outside of marriage, per se. Dean hadn't even realized he'd been nervous about that until Cas put his fears to rest (though Cas did make it clear he hoped to get married one day).

Dean also learned Cas hadn't been kicked out of his family for being gay, at least not entirely. Apparently, when asked during his mother's funeral why he hadn't been as active in their rather evangelical church recently, Castiel happened to mention that he was considering converting to another Christian denomination – and a much less evangelical one at that. This led to the sort of epic family blowout that can only happen around a wedding or a funeral. Gay was something his father had still thought could be 'fixed' but it seemed 'wrong brand of Christian' was a bridge too far.

Dean tried not to look spooked at the religion talk, in part due to how well Castiel had taken the knowledge he still liked breasts. He made a mental note to check out the nearby church Cas mentioned and as long as they seemed like good people to leave it at that.

He also made a note to stop by his father's grave the next time he was in Kansas. He'd thought his dad was an asshole when he was young, but at least he was the kind of asshole to fight it out with you and then let sleeping dogs lie the next day. None of this 'be gone from my house, you're no son of mine' bullshit. He'd tried to keep a lid on his kids, not power trip them into oblivion.

Not for the first time, Dean got the impression Castiel was something the harsher forces of the universe should've crushed by now. The fact he was still all the things that he was seemed like a gorram miracle to Dean.

_Gorram_. There was that too. Dean noticed that night that prolonged exposure to Castiel was beginning to have a cleansing effect on his vocabulary, at least on the 'taking God's name in vain' thing, which seemed like the one rule Castiel planned to take with him from Oklahoma to the grave. Dean had always assumed if there was a God he knew how to tell the difference between asking for help and just saying his name 'cause you hammered your damn thumb again, but if his language bothered Cas apparently his brain thought it was time to clean it up. Talk about a fucking brave new world.

(Castiel explained there was nothing inherently sacred about shit, cock, fuck, dick, asshole, or any of a number of Dean's other favorite words. So he considered using them out of context at worst rude, not profane. At that moment Dean felt a thrill of gratitude for that half of a theology degree Cas had earned and decided not to ask about 'a-fucking-men' until a time when Cas had at least a few more beers in him.)

Dean also learned he almost missed out on meeting Castiel entirely. He had a cousin who was a homicide detective in the NYPD, a detective Ryan, who had also left Cas with an open invite should he ever need an escape hatch. Standing under the faded display of the Oklahoma City bus terminal Cas had had to make a call, NY or LA? The decision had been a practical choice: The LA bus left sooner. But for a quirk of the Greyhound schedule, he and Dean would be nothing at all to each other. Just hearing the tale gave Dean the feeling of a bullet whizzing past his ear.

They'd moved outside by then. One of the few features of the house that had won Dean's heart was a gadget with a remote that let Dean lower an awning over some chairs out back when it rained. It didn't reach out far, certainly not to the bed or the fire pit, but with a few beers nearby and the sound of the rain to keep them company it was enough.

Dean hadn't wanted the night to end. In the rush of everything that had followed, he'd forgotten one of the main things that had been so exciting about those illicit car rides back from the club had been the chance to just talk with Castiel. So he took an extra-long swig of his beer as consolation when Castiel stood up to head inside.

Except Castiel didn't head inside. Instead, he picked up his chair and moved it closer to Dean's. The chairs had no armrests. Being pushed together like this was all that was needed for Castiel to be able to take Dean's arm and put it around his shoulder.

His beer was done by then, so Castiel took Dean's free hand in both his own and studied it like a sacred text.

"You have beautiful hands, Dean."

Dean looked down at the impossible creature curled into his shoulder, and then at the impossible sight of him holding hands with someone, like a real partner, in the yard of a house that belonged to him, in a Los Angeles rainstorm.

Talk about a brave new world.

Castiel continued to study his hand. "You surprised me when we met, Dean. I'd seen you on the show a few times. There you always seemed so relaxed. Professional, of course, but very unconcerned with certain things. But then, when I saw you, I got the impression of a marine or a sentinel. Like you should have had a sword in your hand. You were much more than I was expecting."

"Yeah, that's my dad. He was the marine in the family. After we lost our mom, he sorta resorted to old habits. Everything was yes, sir, no, sir. It gave us some structure while he took us all over the country looking for work. Good construction jobs weren't in short supply back then, but he had trouble keeping 'em. I think he thought if we set up house somewhere and mom wasn't around then that was it. She'd be really gone."

He didn't know what it was about Cas that made him keep talking, but he did. "Dad even used to run out of town a lot. Small jobs, a week here or there. Rather than pull up stakes he'd just left me to watch Sammy in whatever motel we were holed up in. Then after a few years I started to get the calls whenever he needed to be bailed out after some bar fight or something. That was when Sam was going through his 'I rebel against everything' phase. I kinda got used to being on guard most of the time, tryin' to keep a hold on things."

"You were the glue that kept your family together."

Dean winced. "I don't know about that. I tried to, though."

Castiel tipped his head up to make sure Dean could see his sincerity. "Judging by how you and your brother turned out, I'd say you did well. You don't give yourself enough credit, Dean."

That didn't sound accurate to Dean, but what the hell. He'd at least done enough to wind up with Cas in his life, even if it was for only a few weeks. He took his hand back and decided while it might not be his place to propose to Castiel, he could at least get down on one knee.

"You know, Cas, there's one thing even the people who hate my guts respect about me. I always finish what I start."

The knowledge of why things had been grinding to a halt so often recently seemed to have had a profound effect on Castiel, that or the beer was stronger than his usual. Either way, Castiel did not try to beg or barter for anything more. He leaned back in the chair without comment as Dean undid his jeans for the second time that night.

However, just because Dean was in giving mood didn't mean he couldn't also make requests. "Take off your shirt." His voice didn't sound nearly as sexy when he gave instructions as Castiel's did, but it was a start.

Cas looked up at him, legs splayed out, jeans pushed down, an almost soporific trust in his eyes. "It's cold, Dean."

Dean walked back into the house without a word. He returned holding his leather jacket. "Take off your shirt, Cas."

The light in Castiel's eyes dialed up at this. He did as he was bidden. Dean quickly took the shirt from his hand and returned it into the house where it couldn't get wet. When he returned he draped his leather coat over Castiel's naked shoulders. He was close enough to kiss the man now but instead nuzzled his face in Castiel's unkempt black hair. He ran his hand over the bare chest beneath him and ever so gently played with his nipples.

When Dean looked down he saw those blue eyes, so warm, so full of faith… It was almost enough to turn Dean off. What cause had he ever given anyone to look at him like that? He turned and stood out away from the shelter, under the full weight of the rain, and considered his next move.

Holding out his hands, Dean captured the falling water. He then turned back to Castiel and went down on bended knee again. Moving his clasped hands over Castiel's exposed cock he let the cool rain slip through his fingers.

Castiel studied him in fascination. The look was so familiar and so exciting all at once that Dean choked up whenever he saw it.

"Now you'll taste like the rain."

With that, Dean Winchester finished what he started.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Date number two was one of Castiel's invention. He refused to tell Dean the destination. "I'll direct you. Do you trust me?"

Climbing into the car was not the best time to play that card. Unlike the usual smoldering declaration of trust, Dean just muttered something about how Castiel had better not dick with the radio during the trip. More and more, Dean caught himself sounding like… well, himself, in front of Cas now. Not the guy raised by a Marine who was hyper-protective of the few people he loved and what little he had, but the rakish, mischievous persona that came across so well on his show.

Of course, the former side of his personality still wanted to take the latter out back behind the house and beat the shit out of it for wanting to take advantage of Castiel's life-crisis or whatever it was, but those two sides of himself had been at war before and no doubt would be again.

It wasn't long before he realized Castiel was leading them into Van Nuys. "Porn capital of the world? Don't get me wrong, Cas, I dig where you're mind's at right now. And the camera does love me, but…"

"I'm not taking you to star in pornography, Dean. We're going to my home turf now, not yours. I'm taking you to Iceland."

"Iceland?"

Castiel nodded up to a building ahead of them.

An ice-skating rink, called 'Iceland.'

"Uh… Isn't this a little public, Cas?" Dean pulled the car to a stop in an admittedly empty lot.

Castiel grinned. "The owner is an old friend and he knows all about us. He had to cancel his open skate tonight to do some maintenance work in his kitchen and offered the ice to us. Now tell me," Castiel's eyes bore into him now. "Were you really worried about being in public with me, or are you worried about something else?"

"You mean like falling on my ass in front of you? Nah, that's more an assumption than a fear at this point."

Castiel's grin grew even stronger, the bright blue in his eyes able to bore a hole right through the side door of the Impala, if need be. He hadn't been kidding – they were on his turf now.

The size of the place was the first thing Dean noticed when he walked in. It was huge. And it smelled like ice. This struck Dean as odd as he hadn't realized ice had a smell or that he'd ever known what it was. The next thing he noticed was that Castiel had a bag of equipment with him. "Dude, I don't care what you say, I'm not wearing a helmet. Helmets are for motorcycles."

"A man after my own heart," spoke a new voice. The man stepped out of an office Dean hadn't even noticed. In the split second Dean had to work up some expectations, he expected a second Castiel – all refined motions and lithe sinew. What he got instead was an eyeful of mullet. "Name's Ash. I go by either Ash or Dr. Badass." He offered his hand.

Castiel smiled. "Dean, this is Ash, the best skater I know to ever quit in a fight over costumes."

Ash didn't disagree with this assessment. "They wanted me to wear a fucking cravat. Do I look like cravat people to you?"

Dean shook his hand. "Dean. And no you don't."

"Damn right I don't. Missed the ice, though, so I bought my own rink."

"Smart" Dean said.

"Genius," Ash corrected. "Picked it up for a song 'cause the last guy damn near drove it into the ground. Now we got classes for every level, group and one on one training, got our own café, set the joint up for pizza parties, we do the Groupons, and BOOM! We're back in black!"

Even if he hadn't come Castiel-recommended, Dean could tell he still would've liked this guy. He turned to Castiel to tell him this but Castiel wasn't there.

Castiel stood at the edge of the ice. Dean couldn't see his face, but from how still he was, he could tell Cas was having a moment. Dean stepped up behind him and put his arms around him. "If you two want to be alone for a while," he said, nodding to the ice, "I get it."

"You're not the jealous type?"

"Oh, I am. Especially over you. But she loved you first. I get that."

Castiel turned to him, the thousand-yard stare back in his eyes. "I didn't come here to be alone with the ice, Dean. I came to be alone with you. On the ice."

"I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"No."

Dean nodded. "Okay, then." Hell, Cas could probably take him to the ballet and he'd find a way to suck it up somehow.

_.  
_

* * *

_._

Two hours later found Dean sitting on the sidelines, nursing his wounds (and he was wounded – though his pride and his ass had taken most of the damage). He was content to heal up while watching Castiel do what he still did better than 99% of the world. "You're awesome out there!" he yelled. He found he had to yell. He wasn't sure how skating rinks were graded but he had a feeling this was a serious rink, mostly because of the size. Castiel had more than enough room to build up speed for a lot of moves that made Dean fear he might have to carry him home if he landed wrong. Or go home alone if Cas never landed at all.

"You're biased," Castiel called back after landing a double with ease.

"You're damn right I am!" he shot back. "That's my coach out there!"

And what a coach indeed. Dean had started the night afraid it could end in all sorts of unfortunate injuries, but Cas had walked him through things easy enough. He had soon found he wanted to race Cas (he lost and had to use slamming into the wall as his breaks). After that, Cas had talked him through some more sensible moves.

Best of all, with every tremor Castiel was there to steady him. Dean was used to being the one to catch people when they fell, either bailing his dad out of jail after another fight or picking up his brother after yet another bender. Accepting someone else's help didn't come easily to him. But when did any of the usual rules apply to Cas? Dean accepted his attentions gratefully – all the more so because he was clearly *not* a natural skater.

Cas seemed to realize this was new for Dean on a variety of levels. As if being on the ice didn't already unleash his smile, he grinned a little more every time he reached out to save Dean from himself. "You're doing well, Dean" he added as often as he could without making it sound like a damned, dirty lie.

"That's a damned, dirty lie and you know it, Cas."

If anything, Castiel's grin increased a little at that. "I'm quite serious. I had expected broken bones by now."

"So I'm ahead of a curve designed for people who suck at this. Good to know."

Now Dean sat on the sidelines – he felt at home in the rink, but most at home on the sidelines – and watched Castiel cut elegant motions against the breeze of his own movements.

"He's too damn good for his own good. Always has been."

Work done for the night, Ash sat down by Dean and put a pizza in a cardboard box on the seat between them. "First pizza from the new oven. Wanna participate in some quality control?"

"Don't mind if I do."

They sat and watched Castiel for a bit. Then Ash leaned in… "This is the part where I tell you Cas and me go way back. So if you break his heart I break your legs, ca-peachy?"

Dean was pretty sure Ash hadn't pronounced 'capisce' correctly, but that wasn't really the point. "Dude, I break his heart and _I'll_ break my legs. He's just… It's like he's not of this world sometimes."

Satisfied, Ash leaned back and enjoyed his own half of the pizza. "You're not wrong. When you leave skating from the level we were at, most skaters treat you like you got some new kind of cancer, a contagious kind. Cas was the only one who kept in touch. Everyone else thought I'd bring 'em bad mojo or something. And I'll have you know I was the second person he came out to."

Dean wasn't sure if that meant something in the world of people who had more than two people to come out to, so he offered an impressed nod. "Nice. You two do go back."

"That we do."

They watched Castiel do a complicated jump with a turn, the kind you had to start while traveling backwards. "He is so damn good out there it kills me."

Ash looked up at that. "Why does it kill you?"

Dean looked down at his hands. "Most of my life I could've just told everyone to fuck off and gone wherever, but I'm here now. Cas has so many options open to him. He can't stay a bartender in Weho for long. I won't let him."

He stared out at the ice at that last bit. He knew the edge was back in his voice in full force.

"So you wanna protect him, huh? He does bring that out in folks. I don't know how, he's not weak or dumb, he just does. Probably 'cause he's loyal as all hell."

Dean tore his gaze from Castiel to smile at Ash for that. "So you see my problem?"

"Can't keep him without feeling like shit, and you don't wanna lose him. Your heart gets sliced and diced either way. Yeah, I'd say you got a problem. 'Course there's one point in all this your take on things seems to neglect."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Ash looked away from the ice to stare Dean down. "If you push him off to find something better, it ever occur to you the next guy might not be so nice? I mean – and I'm just spitballin' here – there's no rule that says he leaves you and moves on to greener pastures. Next guy might be a saint or he might be an asshole. There's no guarantee you're giving him a better life or anything."

Dean shot Ash a look. "Oh, yeah? Is this theoretical next guy allowed to take him out in public?"

"Touché" Ash said around a mouth full of pizza. After getting it down, he continued. "You gotta remember, I'm not rooting for you to be happy, I'm rooting for my friend. There are rules about this stuff. And it's sure as hell not my job to make it easier for you leave him. But, if it helps, I think I know something that might make it easier for you to let him stay."

Ash leaned back in his seat and put his feet up on the half-wall that separated them from the ice. "Did I mention that we do training here? Real top level stuff."

The slice of Castiel's skates over the ice echoed in Dean's mind as he processed what he'd just heard. "Any chance you guys are hiring?"

_.  
_

* * *

_._

Cas rolled down the window on their way home from the rink. He loved the smell of the ice in his clothes but it was too good a night to not have the window down. Besides, a car like the Impala almost demanded such things. Cruising through L.A. at night, Dean by his side, his muscles weary from his first good skate in years… It was that kind of night.

"I can't believe I just fucking ice-skated for you. I don't know what kind of spell you got me under, Cas, but it's a good one."

Cas only grinned and reached out to run his fingers through Dean's hair as they stopped at a light. "You skated with me, Dean, not for me. And whatever spell this is I'm under it too."

Dean smiled and even blushed a little under Castiel's ministrations. "You know, I finally figured out who you remind me of. You're The Little Prince."

Cas pulled his hand back, more from a desire to let Dean negotiate the traffic unmolested than from his evident confusion. "The prince of what?"

Dean took his eyes off the road enough to give him a look for that. "You kidding? You don't know The Little Prince? Aw, man, that was my favorite book when I was a kid. My mom used to read it to me every night. It's about this prince from another world; he falls through the universe and lands on Earth. He wants to get to know people so he starts wandering around the desert, talking to this downed pilot and telling him about his adventures. I used to think he was real. I'd fall asleep planning all the adventures we'd have when he landed in front of me one day."

"You didn't doubt that you'd find him?"

"The Little Prince? Nah, 'course not. There were no kids my age on the street back then so he was my best friend 'til Sammy came along." Dean swerved the car through a tricky intersection. "You really never heard of it?"

Castiel looked out the window at the neon lights moving past the car. "Most of my childhood stories were from the bible." Although Cas had to admit a wayward prince fallen to Earth might've appealed to his parents on a metaphorical level. His mother at least. His father… His father didn't really 'do' metaphor.

They pulled up into the familiar driveway. Castiel knew without being reminded that he must enter the side door, never the front, 'just in case.' As they stepped into the kitchen, Castiel pushed Dean against his over-sized stainless steel fridge and kissed him. He still wasn't sure if there were social cues that should guide his actions, the kind he could never spot on his own, but this was the end of a date. Kissing was allowed at the end of a date. Even he had twigged that much. "Thank you for tonight."

Dean grew a bit flustered at the sudden onslaught, but Cas didn't react. One thing he'd learned in training is if you make a mistake treat it like you meant to do it. Double down. Until you were flat on your ass or waving your arms for balance no one could say what you did wasn't what you meant to do.

Dean finally pushed him back, but only enough to speak. "Hey, Cas, it wasn't that big a deal, you know."

"You showed an interest in something important to me. You left your comfort zone and you injured yourself."

"A couple bruises. I've had worse on the job."

"But you did this for me." Cas kept up his four-alarm stare. Dean couldn't deny that last part. "What you do is appreciated." With that, Cas began to kiss Dean's neck in a way he'd learned Dean was very responsive to.

"Ah, uh, you don't have to do this, Cas. This doesn't have to be fast. We can still go slow. I haven't even seen you naked yet."

Castiel pulled back at that and tried to decipher the exact conversation they were having.

"I mean," Dean rushed on. "There's no pressure. You don't have to do this just to say 'thanks' or anything. I get a kick out of this too, you know."

Castiel leaned in close and put his forehead against Dean's. He'd learned this is the position Dean communicated things that went deeper than language. "I've already offered my thanks, Dean. Now we're on to something different."

With that, Castiel pulled back and began to take off his shirt and shoes.

"Uh, Cas…"

"Quiet." Dean always responded well to his occasional bossy voice. It's like he needed some sort of authority to know being with Castiel was allowed, was permissible according to some unwritten rule book. By now Cas was undoing his jeans and pulling them off, along with everything underneath them.

He stood in the kitchen, naked, and leaned back against the counter. He could tell from the play of 'what the fuck' and 'oh holy night' that ran across Dean's expressive features that the leaning was a nice touch. Or a very, very, naughty one. It might even be considered cheating, but fuck it. Castiel had been living too close to his wants to remain stoic for long. "Pardon my language, Dean, but my dick doesn't get hard at the idea of gratitude. You need to understand what I feel for you is something else."

He leaned in and kissed Dean again. He'd tried communicating his wants and his trust to Dean in the only languages he knew, English and Naked. Dean's body had to speak at least one of them.

This time, it worked. Even if Dean's brain hadn't gotten the memo, his body most certainly had. His hands explored the expanse of skin laid bare before him with neither mercy nor shame. They scratched lightly down Castiel's back and then wandered down further, into his cleft.

Castiel leaned back enough to stare Dean down again. "You were saying something about taking it slow?"

Dean shook his head. "Me? That doesn't sound like me."

Castiel lifted one leg and wrapped it around Dean's backside. "Good." With that, Dean put his hands under Castiel's ass and lifted him up onto the counter behind him. This gave Cas the opportunity to lock his legs around Dean and lose himself in the intolerable friction of their bodies moving against each other. He pushed Dean back only for a moment, long enough to say "You're awfully clothed, Dean."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Dean pulled away enough to strip down before Cas, his eyes never leaving those of his guest. Castiel, for his part, relished the intensity in Dean's face, as well as his obvious enjoyment of what they were doing. (And being taller. There wasn't much of a height difference between them, but sitting on the counter gave Cas the heady sensation of lording over his host in a manner that in no way reflected the dynamics of their relationship – but which was terribly nice.)

When Dean had finally divested himself of every last stitch he stepped in close to Cas again and… _wow_. The heat of their bodies mingled where they didn't touch and where they did everything exploded with a kind of light in Castiel's brain. The feeling of Dean's bare skin on his dick was such a rush Castiel arched himself almost off the counter at the sudden sensation. To keep from falling he bent his head low over Dean's and buried his face in his hair, his arms on Dean's shoulders. "_Dean, Dean…_" He muttered the man's name like a benediction as Dean licked his exposed chest, lavishing particular attention on the two hard spots he found there. From his position, Cas could only rake his hands through Dean's hair and moan his approval.

Castiel had thought he might just be calling the shots that evening, the same as he'd been the one giving directions in the car hours before. This myth was debunked as Dean lifted him off the counter. Castiel could only wrap his legs around the other man's waist and trust he'd like wherever he was taken. In this case, it was back to the guestroom to be deposited on the bed.

Dean stood over him. If his hardened, weeping cock hadn't been enough to tell Castiel how wanted he was, the chiseled hunger on Dean's face would've been enough. Cas wanted to make plain exactly what he was inviting Dean to do so he opened his legs.

Dean shook his head. "You said all the bases, Cas. All of them." He climbed onto the bed and over Cas to the other side. "Come here." He pulled Cas to lie on top of him in just the right position for their dicks to come together like magnets. With that, Dean started to thrust.

A series of moans escaped Castiel's mouth at the friction. "_Dean_…" By the time Dean's hand snaked between their bodies to start rubbing them off together Castiel knew he wasn't going to hold out for very long.

Thankfully, Dean was pretty far gone himself. His hand between them was already moving fast, slick with their mingled pre-come. His other hand had Cas by his ass, making sure they ground together perfectly, their bodies moving in concert. Dean was even starting to talk, or rather to mutter to himself, a sure sign he was losing it. _"Cas, you're so gorgeous. You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?"_

Castiel closed his eyes and dreamed every word was true.

They came so close together Castiel had almost no memory of Dean's response. There was only a crescendo of pleasure breaking over him in waves and then the hot, wet sensation of Dean striping his stomach and chest, as he must have just done to Dean. He thought this should feel uncomfortable, but it didn't. It felt primal and ancient and marked him as Dean's. It was wonderful.

Through eyes half-lidded from pleasure, Castiel looked up as Dean recovered enough to grab tissue from the night stand and wipe them both down.

"You were right," Cas offered. "I'm glad we didn't skip that." He smiled and leaned up to kiss Dean as Dean sat up, preparing his escape.

Dean kissed Cas back down into the bed and pulled a blanket over him. Rather than leave, he stared down at Castiel for a long time. If he was capable of thought at the moment (a suspect notion – Castiel could at least remember the volume level Dean had hit at his climax and it was not modest) then Dean was most likely thinking, though about what Castiel couldn't begin to guess.

Until Dean spoke. "Hey, Cas, are you still doing the drag queen thing down at Micky's?"

That wasn't what he'd been expecting. "No. I assumed with all the attention on us now it would be inadvisable. Why?"

Even in the dark, Castiel could see the shadow fall over Dean's features. "No reason, man. Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, Dean gave Castiel a friendly pat on the shoulder, which even Castiel knew was a discordant note given the night's activities, and took himself out of Castiel's bedroom as fast as his still shaking legs could carry him.

Cas fell back against the pillow. Knowing the stupid, if chivalrous, reason behind these abrupt changes in the weather didn't keep them from smarting worse than any fall he'd ever had on the ice.

_.  
_

* * *

_._

Ash didn't have an answer to Dean's employment question, at least not yet. It wasn't the sort of investment a small business could make just because it would solve a lot of personal problems; he had to ask around their client pool and see if there were enough takers. But it certainly gave Dean something to think about for the next few days.

The next date was at Pamela's. She threw a little backyard BBQ for the three of them on absolutely no pretext whatsoever. It was clearly a 'you're with my friend so I have to vet you' type of deal. As soon as they walked through the door Pamela hugged Castiel and then pulled back enough to stare him down.

"Now I haven't known Dean long, but he's already a good friend of mine. So if you break his heart I'm going to char you up on the grill and feed you to dogs, you hear me?"

Dean chuckled, but then he saw how Castiel had paled at her declaration.

Cas blinked a few times. "I've certainly no wish to hurt Dean. Ever. He's been very kind to me." He was so wide-eyed and innocent he actually broke Pamela's stern expression in half. She covered her mouth with her hand like she just saw a puppy hug a turtle.

"I was kidding! Mostly. Come here, you!" She hugged him again for that, and over his shoulder mouthed to Dean "OH MY GOSH, KEEP HIM!"

Dean mouthed back "WORKING ON IT."

They spent most of the night around Pamela's own fire pit, moving on from cooking veggies on a stick, to shrimp, to steak, and then to marshmallows. Dean was happy to see Castiel have to ask for some cooking help for once. He didn't goad him about it, but gave him a look that said goading may or may not happen later, depending on his mood.

Pamela didn't just grill the food, she gave Castiel a thorough going over as well. By now Dean could tell it was in large part due to the way Castiel's blue eyes grew wide with every question, like it was a job interview or something. The fact he was taking this far too seriously was as evident as the fact Pamela was getting a grade-A kick out of watching him audition for the right to be with Dean.

He knew he should probably put a stop to it, for Castiel's sake, but it was so fucking adorable. And kinda hilarious. They had just opened the bag of marshmallows when Dean got the phone call.

"Hey, Sam…. You _what_?"

Castiel immediately stood and moved to Dean. "Is everything okay?"

"Hang on a second." Dean turned to Cas and Pamela. "My little brother just got engaged!"

A large number of cheers and whoops went up considering there were only three people between them. It took a moment for Dean to remember the phone in his hand. "Hey, get your asses down here! We gotta celebrate!"

After a quick bout of information giving Dean hung up the phone. "My little brother is engaged," he repeated for no one's benefit but his own.

Castiel looked around the backyard at the discarded beer bottles. "Dean, there's a liquor shop around the corner. We could go see if they have any O'Doul's."

His brother was engaged and he was with someone who thought about things like having non-alcoholic beer around for Sammy. If life could get better he sure as hell couldn't imagine how. And judging from the look Pamela was giving him from behind Castiel that had impressed her too.

They just barely beat Sam to Pamela's as they came back from the store. "SAMMY!" At which point Dean hugged Sam enough to finally win a 'who can hug harder' competition. "I am so fucking proud of you!" It took a few moments for Dean to realize someone was missing. "Wait, where's my new sister?"

"At home. She has to teach class at eight in the morning across town."

"That blows. Okay, we'll just have to celebrate this twice then." Dean knew he had his ''cause I'm the older brother and I say so' look on his face, but fuck it. He was the older brother and he did say so.

Sam radiated a stunned happiness all through the night. After Dean passed him a Sam-friendly beer they'd sat around the fire pit and just attacked him with questions about their plans. Of course, they didn't really have any plans yet, other than eventual married-getting, but it was still fun to ask.

Dean got up to clear the dishes from the yard and bring them to the kitchen. Sam was having too much fun thinking about the questions he was getting and Pamela was having too much fun asking them; he didn't want to see it stop for anything.

He was in Pamela's kitchen when Castiel approached. Dean had a plate with dried glaze and gristle in one hand and the faucet to spray it away with in the other. Pamela had one of those faucets you could pull out and use like a hose.

Dean grinned as Castiel took up Dean's usual place, standing behind him at the sink.

"I think I'm beginning to understand you, Dean Winchester," Castiel said into his shoulder. "You're only happy when the people you protect are safe and happy."

Dean aimed the spray at a stubborn bit of caked on honey-glaze they'd used on their veggies. "Yeah? Is that such a surprise?"

Castiel nuzzled his neck. "No. But you have a lot more to offer someone than just protection, Dean. I hope you know that."

Dean looked down at the faucet in his hands and stared. And stared. Castiel's words fell through him like a pebble dropped into a deep well. It was a long time before they finally made contact with his mind.

"Dean?"

With that, Dean gave the only response he could. He turned the faucet on Castiel and sprayed him.

Castiel gave a yelp and held out his hands in defense as Dean laughed. He raced back out into the yard, Dean hot on his trail.

"Pamela, where's your hose? I need to get this guy."

Pamela and Sam were up and out of their chairs before they could get hit with anything. "Why? Is he being punished?"

Dean and Cas stared each other down across of the fire pit. "Yeah, and he knows damn well what for."

Castiel's wet face suddenly paled. He looked to Pamela. "We were not performing a sex act in your kitchen, if that's what you're thinking."

Sam spit out his beer on his laughter. Pamela's mouth fell open. "Well, I am now!"

Dean just bent double and laughed until his eyes teared up.

_.  
_

* * *

_._

Dean and Cas kept shooting each other little looks for the rest of the night and the ride home. It was this more than anything that let Dean know his time was up. There would be no more perfect a night; if he said no now he was officially not interested. And he was very interested.

Dean hadn't been so nervous about sex in years. Because of this, he could just imagine what Castiel was going through. When they turned down his street he reached out and took Cas's hand and gave it a squeeze. If Cas could pick up on any signal or read any situation correctly, Dean hoped it would be this one. "How's your schedule for tomorrow?"

"Busy. They want me at the house again and then I have work."

"Oh. Okay then."

The ride was silent until the car came to a stop. When it did, Castiel was not quick to leave. He looked up at Dean. "I don't need much sleep, though. If you had anything in mind…"

Dean kissed him because he felt like it and because now he had the power to kiss Cas whenever he felt like it. He then pulled back enough to end the kiss, but no further. "If you're sure-"

"Yes."

The answer came too fast for Dean's comfort, but it wouldn't be like Cas to start playing coy now. "Okay, one rule. If this hurts you, if it hurts for a second, you need to stop me. Deal?"

Castiel leaned back and considered this. To be honest, Dean had hoped he'd been excited enough to just say yes to anything, up to and including self-preservation. Of course that wasn't Castiel's style. "I assume there will be discomfort, Dean. If this is your way of finding an out you can just say so. I won't be offended."

"It's not, okay? It's just… You don't protect yourself around me, Cas. And it scares the shit outta me."

Cas turned his body to face Dean fully in the car. When he looked up Dean felt himself pinned by the weight of his blue-eyed stare. "I don't protect myself around you because I trust you. And your actions have proven my instincts about you to be correct."

Castiel scooted closer to Dean. Of course by then Dean knew his resolve was lost anyway. Fucking happiness. It ruined every defense.

"Good things do happen, Dean. If you can let them."

Dean clutched the steering wheel like it was his last chance at something, something important. He willed himself not to melt as Cas began to kiss his cheek, his neck, anything his lips could reach. "Cas, I need something here. You gotta throw me a line. You have to promise you will say something if it gets too much. This won't be fun for me if I don't know you're okay."

Castiel leaned back at that and studied Dean. He tipped his head and gave him that quizzical look that always made Dean wonder which of the stars in the night sky was his home. "Of course, if it seems excessive I will say something. We can still talk, Dean. Unless you planned to have me bound and gagged."

That image shot to Dean's crotch like an arrow. And didn't that make him proud? "One thing at a time, Cas."

Dean was barely able to hold himself together for the steps it took to get into the house. When they were both inside he pushed Cas up against a wall and let the monster of want inside him loose. In that moment he knew he'd never known want before. Not like this. Want sucked the air from your lungs and pulled the blood from your mind. Want made you lift it up until it folded its legs around you in a vice grip. Want kissed with chests and hips and ragged breaths. Want claimed you with blue eyes and changed your name to beloved. And you let it.

Dean didn't come up for air until they were on his bed. He looked at Castiel beneath him, waiting. After a few tries, he located the muscles that moved his lips for verbal communication instead of just kissing. "Is there anything you want out of this?"

Castiel trailed his hands over Dean's shirt. "I want to see you at all times."

Dean nodded. No from behind stuff. It might make the positioning tricky but, "Okay. I can do that." He pulled off his shirt and watched Castiel take his cue to do the same. Before Cas could reach for his jeans, Dean got there first. He grabbed at the fabric in rough, fast movements. He'd left Castiel in doubt for too long, he was not going to let him think this night was anything other than wanted. Craved, even.

Standing by the side of the bed, naked, staring down at Cas in a similar state, Dean gave himself a moment to take mental pics. He was gorgeous. He was HIS. It wasn't fair, not to the universe, not to the man Castiel should've been with, perhaps not even to Cas. But if anyone knew life was unfair sometimes, it was Dean Winchester. Before leaving his spot he remembered the idea he'd had on that night Cas came to stay with him and lit a candle by the bed. When he saw Castiel smile in response Dean gave him a wink.

He crawled back onto the bed, between Castiel's legs, and deposited a few supplies in the vast space beside them. He began to retrace the course they'd taken so far. Kissing him on the mouth, then lower, over his chest… Using his hands on Castiel's body, then his mouth, drinking him down, while Castiel tugged at his hair.

"Is there something you would like me to do?" Cas asked.

Dean looked up at him and shook his head. He pulled away from his work long enough to respond. "Not tonight. Tonight is all about you, okay?"

Cas gave him that look again, like the best man in the world would have to look up to Dean. Hell, maybe he was looking up at him right now.

The strange truth was giving Cas pleasure was almost as good as being on the receiving end. Dean had always had a too cool attitude during sex, like he was smarter than it or something. The few guys he'd gone this far with had a similar attitude –like everything was expected and nothing was new. Castiel had no such pretense. He was moved by every new pleasure and had no compunction singing his responses in a chorus of cries and moans. Dean felt a thrum in his body as he took credit for every one.

Castiel's body tensed as Dean began the slow work of preparing him. He eased the tension off with kisses trailed on his inner thigh. "You alright?"

His voice rang with alarm. "Dean, if you stop now…"

Dean laughed. "No chance. Not unless you say so."

He focused back on his explorations until he found the spot that made Castiel near arch off the bed. _"Dean!"_

Dean moved his free hand over the long, smooth planes of Castiel's body. He wanted to say something but there was no blood left in his mind for words. He grabbed the protection and more lube and worked quickly. Nothing short of the house collapsing could've dissuaded him now.

He watched Castiel for any signs of hurt as he pushed in. _"God, Cas…."_ His body was so tight, so amazing, he had to close his eyes or he would hit sensory overload. He opened them again when he felt Cas take his hand and lace their fingers, determined to take Dean over the edge with him.

It was Cas who moved first. Dean found himself yielding to his lead. He'd wanted to go slow, to make the night last a year, but Castiel wasn't into such torture. He reached down to finish himself off but Dean batted his hand away and replaced it with his own. He pumped Cas with long smooth strokes in time with their thrusts.

Cas gave his hand a squeeze and stared up at Dean, his eyes lust blown. _"Harder."_

Dean had wanted to treat this climax like climbing a mountain. Cas wanted it like jumping off a cliff. With their hands clasped, Dean had no choice but to be pulled over with him. He let go of his reserve and resolve and gave himself to it.

Castiel went first. Dean watched as Cas writhed and panted beneath him, choking on Dean's name. When Cas seemed aware of the world again Dean dropped his own awareness back inside his body to finish. _"Cas, please, please just…"_

The last thing he remembered before passing out was collapsing back into the bed beside Castiel, staring up into his beautiful face, and finishing the one thought he'd had in weeks.

_"Don't go." _

With that said, he let himself fall into a dreamless sleep.

_.  
_

* * *

_._

Castiel opened the door to the back yard and stood looking out, resolutely avoiding the thoughts in his head at the moment.

One thought got through: It's cold now. Cas didn't have a coat to speak of. When he packed his stuff at his father's house a month ago there wasn't time to consider seasons. Besides, his mother had just died. How were the seasons supposed to go on after something like that? He'd had enough trouble processing the recent past; the theoretical future hadn't stood a chance.

Cas picked up Dean's leather coat and stepped into the back yard. It was a practical choice. Healthy, even. But it also smelled like Dean's aftershave. There was nothing practical about that.

The night was quiet, though not as much as he'd have once thought. Who knew there were cicadas in Los Angeles? Or birds that sang at all hours of the night?

It was clear now why so many people smoked after sex. Refractory time was also reflective, and without a nicotine habit to indulge Castiel had no pretense to hide behind if caught. In another life he'd have started an all-night skate practice right now. He'd had his last all-night skate not long after he came out to Anna (one of the few people he could come out to). He'd lived with her family in a converted New England farm house for years and knew the wooded terrain at night better than anyone, certainly better than that of his home. Her rink had once been a livery or some such and was a fair walk from the house. He'd never minded, though. If there had been no rink he would've taken those walks just the same.

He remembered every moment of that night: the long trek downhill at three in the morning when he'd realized sleep would be a long time coming, the crunch of fresh snow under his shoes, the scent of burning leaves that enfolded the region from September on, more sharp on cold nights like that one had been.

Somewhere in the years of training his mind had become connected to his muscles in a co-dependent way. Some athletes could sympathize, he assumed. Long distance runners or cyclists, perhaps. Those rare folks with no direct opponent other than the constant need to keep in motion. Without movement there could be no deep thoughts. It was how he kept blood flowing to his mind, a kind of mental shark syndrome. Stop moving and death will follow.

He didn't know it then but that had been his real last skating hurrah, not the good showing in Montreal that came two weeks later, the evening he and Bryon were discovered, when everything fell apart. That was still to come. That night Castiel still thought of his life as something expanding. The world championship, coming out to Anna…. Everything tended towards growth. He hadn't known the contraction of his world had already begun. That it would soon reach a point where his entire life would fit into a backpack and four bags stuffed into the baggage hold of an overnight Greyhound bus trip to Los Angeles. Like a dying star the light of that life, the life he'd been aiming for since he was four, could still be seen but by then the fire was already out. He just hadn't known it yet.

The ignorance had been bliss. That night had been one of those rare times when it was just the ice and him. And the deer that passed by the window, curious about this other wild creature out and about at all hours of the morning.

Afternoons made no sense to Castiel, but mornings he understood. He was on intimate terms with the hours between two and seven.

Bereft of ice, Castiel ran over their last long routine in his mind. It was a habit born of years of training. Every coach he'd had agreed on the then dubious theory that studying something before sleep would help you remember it better. He was proud his coaches had later been proven correct, though even if they hadn't been he would still do this. It was in his intellectual muscle memory now. _Arms out – half spin – backwards – grip – build up speed…_

Castiel looked up at the night sky and wondered how he'd wound up in SoCal, how he'd gotten so far away from his old life it looked like someone else's to him now.

The world shook underneath him for a moment. Castiel looked up as the wine bottle they'd left on the table near the bed fell on its side and rolled off to the ground. It landed in the grass with a quiet thump. His first earthquake. The second time his world had been rattled that night.

_"Don't go."_

Dean had looked so scared when he'd said that. It wasn't an 'I'm afraid of heights' kind of fear, it was the kind doctors must see every time they enter a waiting room with test results. Equal parts terror and certainty, and a sliver of hope fighting for its life.

Castiel had heard the words Dean had been saying since the start. He'd even managed, in his state of extreme flux, to process some of them. But wrapped up in Dean's leather coat against the cold was the first time he started to put together the simple message his host had been broadcasting on every available frequency since they'd met: _You're going to leave and it's going to fucking hurt._

It had been unjust of Cas to assume the TV star with the new house and the ever present mischief in his much-admired green eyes wasn't in any real danger all this time. He'd assumed he alone had carried vulnerability into this experiment. He'd been wrong.

Cas understood that now. He knew now what Dean, with all his experience, had been frightened of. Tonight hadn't been just sex, it was sex and their relationship being hit by a truck.

"Good. You're alright."

Cas looked up to see Dean standing in the doorway. "I couldn't sleep. You?"

Dean walked back inside long enough to return with two beers, caps already off. He handed one to Cas. "Earthquake. Probably just a three but it banged all the hangers against the closet wall. Woke me up. You weren't there." Cas heard the unintended rebuke in that. Or perhaps the intended one. "I wanted to make sure you didn't think we'd angered the mountain Gods or something."

"I think we're a little late for a virgin sacrifice, Dean."

Dean grinned a bit ruefully. He looked down at the bottle, the ground, anywhere but Castiel's face. "So… you out here thinking?"

Castiel played with the label on his beer. "Yes."

"Uh-oh." Something about the night or that confession must have broken something in Dean because Castiel noticed how he now looked up to face him. He didn't look afraid anymore, just resigned. "You're trouble when you're thinking, Cas."

"I was thinking you might be right."

To his credit Dean didn't look away. "There's your first mistake."

The childish part of Castiel's nature wanted to correct his attitude, to say 'stop it, I'm serious.' But the rest of Castiel just wanted to protect Dean from what was about to happen. "You've been worried I would leave from pretty early on, haven't you?"

"Only since the moment I clapped eyes on you, yeah."

"And you've also been worried that if I didn't leave on my own, it would fall to you to make me leave. To protect me from wasting my time with you. Is that correct?"

Dean did start to look away at that, but corrected himself. "Yeah, that's about right. Cas, you got the whole world on your plate right now-"

"Did it not occur to you, Dean, that if there's something in the world I want I'd want it _with_ you, not instead of you?"

From the look on Dean's face, no, it hadn't.

Castiel pushed on. "Dean, I've seen more of this world than any ten people you know. I was its champion, in the literal sense, for over a year. Everything I want is in this yard right now."

Dean still had the _'give me the bad news, I can take it'_ look on his face, the one Castiel now realized had nothing to do with being conflicted over what he wanted from him and everything to do with what he wanted for him. It was at the same time both so fucked up and so generous Castiel had no idea what to do about it. "I rebelled against my family, my father, and my home, Dean. And I don't regret it. It was the right thing to do for a number of reasons, chief of which is it led me to you."

Castiel threw up one last life line of hope. _If there's any other way, if there's something I haven't thought of, now is the time, please…_ When nothing else came to mind he finished his thought. "But this has been a kind of torture for you. I see that now. You can't let me stay without hating yourself and you can't bring yourself to be rid of me. If I stayed knowing that, seeing what it does to you, I'd start to regret everything."

With the last of his resolve, Castiel stood. "I'll pack my things and leave with Becky in the morning."

"Cas, wait." Dean stood and blocked his path. Not enough to stop him, just enough to touch him, to pull him in close and do that thing where he rests his head against Castiel's and closes his eyes so tight…. "Please, think about this." Cas knew Dean was desperate to impart something in those moments, to transfer his needs by osmosis.

He was far from a mind-reader, but Castiel thought he might have just the right thought to leave on. "However…"

Dean looked up so fast at that Castiel felt weak in the knees. "However…" he continued, "if I come back to you when this episode is over, when people aren't watching us, will you trust me to know what I want?"

Dean started to look away, but Cas wasn't having it. He took Dean's face in his hand. "You need to stop being alarmed when people care about you, Dean. And you need to stop thinking I'm made of glass. I survived twenty-eight years as a closeted man in an evangelical family in Oklahoma, your network does not frighten me." He stopped holding Dean's face and switched to running the back of his curled fingers along Dean's cheek. "I will be making an informed decision, Dean. Someone once told me there's something called free will. Can you respect mine?"

"I don't know," Dean answered. An honest answer, for which Cas was grateful. "I don't! You're, like, nine kinds of something else, Cas. If I get used to you, to us, and you fly off somewhere… You could still leave at any time, you know."

"That's every relationship, Dean. Not just me. Have you considered that's what you really have a problem with?"

That caught Dean's attention in a hurry. Something in his wide eyes told Cas he'd been considering this problem entirely due to Castiel and/or his network. From all appearances it'd be a while before Dean would be able to shake this new idea of his own culpability from his mind.

_Good_.

"I'm not your father and I'm not your brother, Dean. And I'm not interested in leaving you except to give you time to think. But I haven't been enjoying this maybe, maybe-not dance you've been doing any more than you have these past few weeks. When the show is over I would appreciate an answer."

Dean leaned his head down against Castiel's again. Without lifting his face he looked up at Cas, all green eyes and mischief again. "Anyone ever tell you your voice gets all gravelly and sexy when you make pronouncements?"

Castile returned the look evenly. "Yes." _And wouldn't you like to know who? To find out all you have to do is take me back when this is over._

The last part of that thought was as understood as it was unspoken. No matter how much he'd like to taunt Dean with it at the moment, Castiel's seriousness of purpose was not to be dissuaded.

Relenting to this at last, Dean nodded. "Okay. To all of it. But I have one request…" Dean leaned in close to Castiel's ear. "Don't go tonight."

Castiel could start to feel his resolve waver. "I hadn't planned to, Dean."

"No, I mean…" and with that he added a breath of warm air over Castiel's neck. "I mean don't check out on me. Come back to bed. Let me have tonight. Now that I know you're going I promise not to be all man-pain about it."

To be fair, Castiel noted that it did appear as if a weight had been lifted off Dean's shoulders. Still... "It's already morning."

Dean looked around at the surrounding darkness as another bird let loose its song. "Nah. It's still night. That's the nightingale, not the lark, Romeo."

At that even Castiel had to smile, just a little. Or perhaps it was at the way Dean was taking him by the hand and pulling him gently to the door. "'Doesn't that make you Juliet in this scenario?"

Dean worked in a few stolen, or at least borrowed, kisses before answering. "No way. I'm Mercutio. Mercutio was bad-ass."

Castiel stilled Dean's tongue by pulling back quickly. Again the note of fear crept on Dean's beautiful face. "Are you really okay with this, Dean?"

Dean's playfulness cooled at that but he didn't appear angry. Or even hurt. "Honestly, Cas, I'm just glad you didn't make me say it. I can't push you away, I can't. I wish I could." He said the next words in a rush. "But I can let you go if I have to."

He brought Castiel's hand to his lips and kissed it. This 'letting go' he spoke of was not going to happen until the last possible moment, that was for damn sure.

"Promise me you'll consider what I said?"

Dean clearly didn't like being dragged back into the state of the union talk they'd been having. He especially didn't look like he liked being reminded a good part of their problem couldn't in any way be blamed on network suits. But still Dean nodded. "I promise, Cas."

"Good." Castiel rewarded his promise with more serious kissing.

_Good_. They needed time to think. If for no other reason than Castiel knew if he didn't leave now he never would. He'd burrow down deep inside this house, inside this leather jacket, and never leave.

He'd live in the walls if he had to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Dean didn't have the energy to get a full bender going when he got home the next night. The quiet of the house mocked him without mercy though, so to shut it up he did buy a bunch of songs to drink to. He went with East of the Sun, the John Lee Hooker, and a few others he thought would remind him of Castiel.

He drank his dinner. Cas had leftovers in the fridge that were probably delicious and healthy and would make the house smell like his cooking, but Dean wasn't ready for that yet. If it smelled like cooking it would smell like home and if that happened Dean knew he'd have to pack a bag and hit up a hotel 'cause he didn't have one of those. Instead, he drank staring out into his yard and when all the songs had played a few times over he turned them off and moved to the living room. He watched a marathon of Doctor Sexy from his DVR and ordered a pizza. He tried to remind himself this was the life but tonight he wasn't buying it.

The only thing keeping him from all the drunken anger he'd thought this night would have involved was Castiel's promise to return when they weren't being watched so much. If Dean let him. He pictured Cas coming back, Dean throwing him over his shoulder and carrying him over the threshold (through the front door this time, thank you very much). It would be a joke, but it also wouldn't be. Looking back on the night before, the night he finally took Castiel back to his bedroom, Dean marveled that with the two or three unaffected synapses still firing in his brain at the time he'd remembered that carrying someone over a threshold was supposed to mean something. He hadn't planned it, but Cas brought out the romantic side he'd long since tried to bury alive under the floorboards.

(Of course that whole moment had only been because Cas had his legs wrapped around Dean's waist at the time, but whatever. It still counted.)

He wanted to text Cas but was pretty sure that would break whatever rules guided this cooling-off period, especially considering _what_ he wanted to text. Instead he sent some annoying texts to Sam. When Sam asked why he wasn't busy with Cas that night Dean tried to describe what was going on via text. While buzzed. Hell, sober and using a full keyboard he wasn't sure he could do it justice.

Fourteen minutes later Sam was at his door with two six packs of O'Doul's and a shopping bag with both apple and pumpkin pie.

"Dude, it's alright," Dean tried to explain. "It's just a cooling off period. Unless he gets a job or finds someone else or something." All those addendums were going to keep him up nights, he could tell.

"I don't care how alright it is," Sam barreled on. "He was here. He's not here. We're drinking."

Dean let Sam in and wondered if some part of his brain hadn't been reaching for this in the first place. In retrospect, he realized wasn't usually the sort of person who drunk-texted questions about wedding arrangements.

A pie and a half later, Dean's mouth started talking. It did not check with his brain for permission first. "Cas says I freak when people like me. It's ridiculous."

His pronouncement was met by a profound lack of agreement.

Dean sat up (or leaned up – he was too full to sit up). "I said that's ridiculous. Come on, man. You know me. You know how often I score. Not to brag or anything, it's just a fact."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, Dean. Usually, you hook up with people you don't know very well. Which means, conversely, they don't know you either. Let's face it, people who don't know you are kinda your specialty." Sam put down his drink and faced his brother. "I can disagree with him if that's what you want to hear right now but maybe Cas has a point."

"I want you to disagree with him."

"He's completely wrong. Seriously. Nice guy, but way off base."

Dean settled back into the couch. "Was that so hard?"

He and Sam ate and drank until they passed out on the couch. Because it was non-alcoholic beer Dean almost had to admit they were getting too old for late night pie binges, but instead he just blamed their jobs. Yeah, that's it, the job.

The job took the blame for a lot of things lately.

However, the job also served as a distraction. Now that Castiel had the reno in his guest-bedroom done he was able to hide away from the crew during the day as much as needed. And it was needed; according to Gabe he'd thrown himself into picking up as many shifts as possible at the bar in the week that followed. Dean wondered if it was to avoid thinking about their hiatus or just to give him a really good reason to sleep through most of the construction.

Or because he was surrounded by hot guys at the club – some of whom, evidence suggests, once had posters of him up on their walls. Dean tried not to consider that as a reason for the new work schedule, but he couldn't bring himself to *not* consider it. It's not like they'd left each other with some sort of relationship status to consider. Even if they had tried to name it, Dean doubted the title 'Dude I May or May Not Get Back with In a Few Weeks,' came with any rights.

The weirdest part was that Dean half hoped Cas did meet someone at the club. His less selfish side liked the idea of the guy getting a little more experience. Dean didn't think he knew many people who'd made it to twenty-eight years old without having sex but if he did he for damn sure wouldn't hold it against them if they made up for lost time. Cas should spend a few years figuring out what he likes. Then, if he meets up with Dean again after that, maybe then Dean could take this whole nonsense seriously. Besides, Dean could just about believe that by then he'd probably be way more mature and well-adjusted and able to handle this shit. And taller.

The more selfish side of him just wanted the band-aid yanked off already.

No such luck. Dean knew from the look on Gabe's face as he pulled Dean aside that he was about to get back in the ring for another round. "Before you even start, Cas left ME. I didn't kick him out or anything."

To Gabe's credit, he looked more concerned than anything. "I know. Little idiot told me everything."

Dean felt his Irish kick up at that. "Hey!"

Gabe only rolled his eyes. "He's my little brother, I can call him an idiot if I want to. I just can't call yours an idiot. I know the rules."

Dean tossed the measuring tape he'd been carrying into his tool kit and wiped his forehead. "Is there a point to this Gabe?" He didn't want to be terse with the guy but he was pretty far from being in the mood for this. It had been over a week since Cas left and Dean was starting to suspect every time he walked into his house it got emptier.

"I wanted to express my condolences." And from the look on Gabe's face, he really did.

Dean wiped sweet from his forehead again. Stupid Los Angeles last-ditch summer weather. Stupid global warming. "Sorry, nothing personal. I just hate the entire fucking planet at the moment."

"Yeah, you got a right to." For the world's mightiest douchebag Gabe seemed to have nailed the 'just stand around and don't try to make it better' side of comforting someone.

Dean thought he should say something. "Thanks." He watched as Gabe turned to go, then turned back again.

"For what it's worth, the Ice Queen is performing again. I'm friends with the woman who runs Micky's. If you know anyone who wanted to see the show – maybe from a discreet distance, like backstage – I could make that happen. In case you know anyone who's interested."

With that, Gabe left in a rush. Probably before he could change his mind.

Dean threw himself into his work after this conversation and tried to blank out his mind. Thankfully, his mind had short-circuited at the prospect anyway, so it wasn't as difficult as it might once have been. In his non-thoughts, two arguments fought for control.

One, Cas wanted time apart. He LEFT. That is not fucking ambiguous. On top of this, Dean encouraged him to leave. He drew his first uncomplicated breath in weeks from Castiel's vapor trail. This was a GOOD THING. A normal, healthy, grown-up, mature-ass man's way to handle the situation. There were too many lights, too many cameras, to result in any action right now. Or maybe ever. Cas deserved better than that. Castiel was the kind of lover Dean should bump into on facebook or wherever in a few years. Then they'd have drinks and talk about mature, well-adjusted things, like how crazy this past month had been for each of them and how 'fond' they were of each other. Dean knew he might not be the healthiest person in the world when it came to relationships, but he knew what a normal, healthy person would do with Castiel right now: Back. The Fuck. Away.

Argument number two: It's Cas.

Argument two point five was that the job was about to finish. He'd only nodded his head to Cas a few times in the past week and soon he wouldn't even have that consolation. Their next job was going to be in Portland. Dean liked Portland. He liked Voo-Doo Donuts and cheap lumber and the fact the place was so riddled with strip clubs that women went to them too, by virtue of there being so few bars without strip clubs. He also liked the image he had in his mind of taking Castiel to Everyday Music and setting him loose in the blues section.

He managed to wait until he got back to his empty house before he texted Gabe for the info.

.

* * *

.

"Nothing for me, thanks." Dean handed the waiter his menu with a smile that he hoped made up for the fact the waiter now knew his 20% tip would be off a smaller bill than he'd been expecting.

"Of course. I'll be back with your drinks." The waiter grinned. Dean could never tell if the waiters at The Abbey liked him or were just really friendly. Then again, he realized, he probably wasn't supposed to.

He looked up to see Sam and Jess staring him down. "What?"

"Did you just turn down a shot at Abbey short ribs? Are you a pod person? Is that your costume?"

Jess chuckled at this as Dean tried to blow off Sam's questions. "What? It's your engagement dinner. I'm not here for food, I'm here for you guys."

Sam rushed on. "You mean us and the food. That part goes without saying."

Dean looked down and directed his response to his phone, which he was checking yet again. "Alright, I might… _haveathinglater_."

"What was that?"

"I said I might have a thing later. Happy?"

Now it was both Sam and Jessie who were chuckling. "Okay, okay. Glad to hear it!" Sam said.

Jess leaned in. "And you're too nervous to eat? Must be serious. Here I thought we'd spend the night helping you drown your Cas sorrows."

Dean knew from the looks he got next that his face did not a damn thing to hide the fact this was a Castiel-related thing he had.

Sam covered his mouth in surprise, _like a freakin' girl_. "Are you guys back to-"

"No! But he's singing at Micky's tonight and the owner said she can sneak me in to watch from off-stage." Dean nodded his thanks to their server as the drinks were deposited at their table. "That's why we took your car tonight. After we're done here I'm gonna hit the club and cab it back."

"So no one sees the Impala? Nice. Good thinking."

Jess grimaced and looked down at her drink. "I don't know, Dean. It's not my place to say, but…"

"Not your place to say what?"

She pushed her drink aside and leaned over the table to look at Dean. "Isn't this just gonna make it hurt more? You're still locked into that shitty contract. I don't want to see you hurt, that's all."

Dean appreciated that, and said so. "It's just… he's so relaxed when he's on stage. It's like when he used to skate. That's his world. He's got everyone on the edge of their seat and he knows it. Things have been so fucked up for him lately." Dean neglected to add 'for both of us.' All three of them were thinking it anyway. "I wanna see him happy about something. It's weird but I think it might make things better, you know, seeing him in a good place."

Sam looked down before saying what he said next. "You want to see him happy before he gets someone else in his life, you mean."

"Thanks, Sam. But, yeah, that too. If he hasn't already got someone."

"Come on, Dean. It's been what, a week?"

"Ten days, and he's working at Weho's ground zero of hot, single guys."

Jess looked around the Abbey at all the good looking guys in their Halloween costumes. "Isn't that this place? I demand a refund."

Dean smiled. A rueful one, but it still counted. "Sorry to be such a chick about this."

Jess shot him a look. "No, no offense taken."

Dean winced. He was gonna have to clean up his language yet again now. "Sorry."

She only waved it off. "No worries. I just wish I could've met this guy. He must be something to have you tied up in knots like this."

Sam looked up at that. "Oh, you can meet him next week."

"What?" Jess asked.

_"What?"_ Dean repeated.

Sam looked at him for a moment, nervous. "Yeah, this is the part you're not gonna like. The network found out I just got engaged and they want to recreate the proposal for the show. Sort of grand finish to the episode."

The deep breaths he took on instinct did nothing to quell Dean's response. "Those sonsofbitches! They can't let one good thing just-"

"Dean, it's really okay. Jess and I kinda want to shout it from the rooftops anyway. It'll be something we can show our kids one day."

Dean clinched his hand into a fist under the table and forced himself to find a little perspective. This was a happy night for a happy couple. That was all he needed to know. "Enough about my problems." He raised his glass. "To Jess and Sam. Sam, may Jess never realize how much better she could've done."

They clinked glasses and settled in for the evening.

.

* * *

.

The line outside Millions of Milkshakes was ridiculous, as usual. And there was no place to sit anyway, so Dean just stood outside and waited. He'd gotten a text saying this is where he'd be picked up. Hopefully after not too long a wait. If he had to hear the promotional video the milkshake place ran one more time he'd hunt down the so-called celebrities involved and punch them in the face on general principle.

Yeah, he was a tad on edge, it was fair to say.

He looked a bit suspicious as a teenage blonde girl approached. "You Dean?"

"Depends on who's asking."

She smiled and handed him a black mask that covered his face around his eyes. "I'm Jo, Ellen's daughter."

He turned the mask over in his hands. "What's this?"

"So no one will see you with me. It's Halloween. You'll blend."

She turned and walked off, setting a pace Dean struggled to match. "My grandmother and mother have run a gay bar in this town since back when just going to a gay bar was illegal, much less running one. We take security seriously."

They turned down an alley. Dean smiled. "He got to you too, huh?"

The young woman turned back. "Who?"

"Cas? This is for him, the 'you hurt him we know where to hide your body speech' right?"

Jo softened a little. "This is for you, Dean. So you know your privacy is important to us. The women in my family ran this like an underground resistance group for decades. They think I missed all the serious stuff but I picked up a lot when they weren't looking. Whenever you want in, let me know."

"Are you sure? It's not always gonna be Halloween."

She thought about this. "We'll find a way."

Dean believed her. "Okay then."

Jo unlocked the back door to the club, then paused. "But, yeah, you should know I like Cas and I have knives."

"Noted."

She looked him over one more time, one last appraising glance, before pushing the door open. "Cas is on last so you guys can talk afterwards and then leave without being seen. He has keys so he can lock up. Stick to the back stage and the wings and you'll be fine."

"Thank you." Dean hoped she got just how much he meant that.

Jo finally cracked a small smile. "Just part of the job."

With that, and a mental note to never let anyone say anything bad about Micky's in his presence ever gain, he followed her inside.

.

* * *

.

The wings and backstage area were dark and cramped, which made sense to Dean considering it was a bar, not a theatre. There was one dressing rooms with a sign out front that could be flipped between "In Use" and "Free."

It turned out Jo came for Dean just in time. As Dean found a place to stand that didn't seem like it would result in bumping anyone or anything, he saw Castiel step onto the stage from the other side. Apparently The Ice Queen was not above going all out for the holiday; Cas was done up as an angel. Black wings, a thin gold halo that glinted in the spotlight... the result was a little bit wrong and all kinds of right. The wrong part being Dean could feel himself want to wave or shout or something to let Cas know he was there even though he knew he couldn't. Cas wasn't his angel anymore.

The amateur night must have impressed Jo and her mom as much as it had impressed Dean as Castiel's first number was East of the Sun again. Much like before, Castiel's make-up was spare and perfect. Dean had never seen the appeal of drag queens before, but now he understood his few encounters had been with one kind only, the 'more is better' kind. Castiel's look was so subtle, it took everything beautiful that was already there and underlined it just enough to catch everyone's eye.

After the first song, the song Dean hoped Cas sang in part for him, he moved on to a few other lonesome tunes. Keeping with the theme of celestial isolation, Castiel sang 'It's Like Reaching for the Moon.' After that, he veered a bit closer to the conventional and actually did two songs Dean had heard before, 'Mad About the Boy' and 'But Not for Me.' Dean didn't want to get his hopes up, but he was pretty relieved Cas didn't perform any songs called 'Just This Week I Met This Awesome New Guy…' or anything like that. As Dean identified each song as not being on the theme of new love or 'my ex should fuck off and die,' Dean relaxed more into enjoying the performance.

And he wasn't the only one. Even though Cas was the last to perform and the club would be closing soon, Dean could see a lot of guys in the audience leaning in to enjoy the show. He could still see why they put Cas on last though. Micky's was mostly known for singers doing pop-hits, or perhaps a throw-back to the 70s. Castiel's repertoire never seemed to make it to the second half of the century. Even for an audience that likes a good throwback, this was a throwback. Still, Castiel's rep must have been growing. Dean could definitely spot a few fans in the audience. He knew the way fandom wrote itself on one's face. He'd seen it in the eyes of a few of his own fans from time to time, the awe bordering on a nervous grin. Castiel had some serious admirers in the house, that was for damn sure (including the two brother's who'd fawned over Castiel so many nights ago after their first fight. Castiel gave them a special wink and a wave from the stage).

Dean felt a terrifying amount of possessiveness crawl through him at this realization – terrifying in no small part due to the fact what he was possessive of wasn't even his, and had no reason to ever become his. Castiel had made that mistake once, he wouldn't again. Dean tried to remind himself he wasn't the kind or level of asshole that would let Cas fall back on bad habits but mostly he just didn't believe he was that lucky.

Before he knew it was it was happening, Dean was stepping aside to let Castiel off the stage.

Cas didn't see him at first. Going from the bright lights of the stage to the dark of the wings could do that to a person. So Dean quietly said "You were great out there."

At that, Cas looked up. "Dean?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I just…"

Cas looked around wildly as if for an escape route. Dean picked up on this. His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness. "I can go. I just wanted to see you once before-"

"In here." Cas pulled him into the dressing room and flipped the sign on the outside to 'In Use.'

It was a cramped space. There was a padded bench by the mirror instead of chairs and clothes were all over the place. Still, Dean knew the rest of the night's performers had cleared out already. He could have his humiliating 'you're awesome and my life sucks now' conversation in peace.

Once the door closed behind him, Castiel remained close. The eye-liner he'd chosen, blue with a hint of glitter, brought out his eyes like it was setting them on fire. "Why are you here, Dean?"

Dean winced. "I just wanted to see you're okay. Gabe told me about the show tonight, and Jo said she could make it safe for me so no one saw me. You were amazing up there."

Cas softened a bit at that. He still didn't pull away. "Thank you. I'm glad you came."

Dean reached out and ran his fingers through Castiel's wig for a moment. "You know, you look good no matter what you do. It's so not fair."

Cas blushed at this and moved to the bench. He removed the wig. "It takes more work than you think. Although it's nice to know my years of athletic training yielded some benefits. I've known how to put on eye-liner since I was ten."

He turned and looked back at Dean. "You'd look good in make up too, you know. You have beautiful eyes."

Dean could actually feel himself blush at that. This man had seen him naked and climaxing and could still somehow make him blush. "Coming from you that's… hard to believe, actually."

Castiel scooted over on the bench, a clear signal Dean should join him. Dean dropped one leg over it and sat astride, facing Castiel head on. Castiel reached out a hand and flipped a few switches. Soon the overhead lights were off and only the soft lights around the mirror remained lit.

Castiel looked over the make-up options and selected some gold eyeliner. He looked back to Dean. "Do you trust me?"

Dean smiled. Of all their verbal games, this was his favorite. "You know it. I just don't see the point."

Castiel reached out a hand to hold Dean's face still and set to work. "The point is for you to see you the way I see you. Keep still and don't peek in the mirror."

It was the weirdest turn on Dean had ever experienced, but feeling Castiel's hand on his cheek, the weight of his intense focus, was enough to shout down the part of his mind that was asking '_Make-up? Really?_' Why the fuck not, he answered back. It's Halloween, isn't it?

Castiel put something damp in his hands and then carded them through Dean's hair, pulling it out so it could frame his face. Then he touched Dean's lips with his finger. It was coated in something Dean didn't want to think about at the moment, he just wanted to feel the touch, the _Cas,_ of the moment and drown in it.

When Castiel pulled his finger back from Dean's face his hand returned with a tissue. "Kiss this" he commanded. Dean blotted his lips, adding a wink for Castiel's benefit as he did so.

Castiel smiled leaned back to examine his handiwork. Dean wondered if it hadn't gone wrong somehow because Cas appeared to look downhearted at the results. He finally smiled. "You can look now."

Dean looked in the mirror and… "Holy fuck! We'll, I'd do me." It was true. Cas had used a light touch with the gold eyeliner, just enough to shine a light on Dean's green eyes and bring out the flecks of gold already there. His hair had a gel in it with a hint of sparkle that didn't so much frame his face as insist that attention must paid. The lipstick wasn't a lipstick at all but a slight gloss, giving Dean the hint of a just-kissed sheen.

Castiel smiled at the reaction he wrought. "Good. Maybe the next time someone else thinks that you'll be less suspicious."

"Hey, I'm fine with people wanting me."

"Really? I would call that a recent development."

"Yeah, really." Dean searched his mind for a convincing argument. "I have fans, you know."

Castiel gave him a look that told him Dean he wasn't going to like his response. "Yes, but they're all so far away, aren't they? You don't mind love from afar, Dean. It's when someone manages it up close that it becomes incomprehensible to you."

Dean looked off at the ironing board that took up the other corner of the room. "Touché."

He knew it was at least a little be cheating, but he couldn't help but try to use the effect of his new look on Castiel, if for no other reason to than to change the subject. "This look works on me, yeah, but I'm easy. The real question is…" he scooted closer. "Does it work on you?" He nuzzled in as close to Cas as he dared, gratified when Castiel nuzzled back, letting their foreheads push together again, close enough to kiss but not quite allowing themselves to do so.

"Dean, you are the least easy person I have ever met." In Castiel's sex-on-gravel voice even a burn sounded like the highest of compliments.

Dean opened his eyes but didn't pull away. "I'm sorry for that."

Castiel leaned back enough to stare Dean down, his head canted to the side. Again Dean got the impression Cas could read him like a book. "Why are you here?"

Dean looked down. "The show's going to Portland for a while after the episode winds up. I probably won't be back in town for a few weeks, at least. By then, I guess a lot of things will be different. I figured this might be my last chance."

"Last chance for what?"

Dean leaned in and kissed Castiel. Close lipped, no pressure, just enough to see how he'd respond. At first Castiel did nothing, but then he finally tipped his head up and opened his lips to Dean. It was a kiss that made Dean as nervous as their first kiss should've if they hadn't been fighting at the time. It was a kiss that made him as nervous as all his first kisses put together should've.

Dean pulled his lips back but didn't pull away. "You know what we did, the other night. It occurred to me I've only been on the giving end of that, never receiving. So before you run off and live some amazing life, I thought, maybe…"

Castiel looked down at his drag materials and took off his earrings. "I'm flattered, Dean. But I can't help but notice you only want me when you can't have me."

Dean leaned in closer at that and decided to prove Cas wasn't the only one with a killer thousand yard stare. "I want you all the time, Cas. I want you every hour of every fucking day. But I need you safe. I need that more than anything. So the only time I get hot and heavy with you is when there's some sort of damn moat protecting you from me. But I wanted you since the moment I saw you, okay? Hell, if I'd have known you existed before that I'd have wanted you since then too."

_I've wanted you since my mother read me the story about princes who fall from the sky. _

Dean watched Castiel absorb, or rather try to absorb, his words. He ran his hand through Castiel's hair again. It was probably an illegal move but there was no ref to flag the play and he knew it might be his last chance.

Cas looked up at Dean, the blue in his eyes dimmed by the want taking over. "Are you sure?" He looked around. "In a dressing room?"

"As long as it's with you, what do I care?" That comment went directly to where Dean had hoped it would. He could tell by the way Castiel's eyes widened.

"Wait here." Cas gave him a dark, hungry look and absented himself from the room.

Dean leaned back on the padded bench. This had 'bad idea' stamped in big red letters and a handful of languages all over it, but Dean had always been of the opinion that, when you died, part of you wished you'd made more awesome mistakes. Mistakes like sleeping with Cas whenever the opportunity came up.

Dean decided to pass the time by getting himself as naked as possible.

When Cas returned it was with some materials from the vending machine in the men's room. Maybe it played too much to type, but Dean remembered those restrooms were fucking _stocked_. Castiel looked down where Dean was already naked on the bench and locked the door behind him. "They're closing down now, but just in case…"

"Fine. Just don't go away again."

Castiel sat across from him and gave Dean a look. "I hardly think this is the time to revisit _that_ discussion."

"Agreed. Sit down and turn around so I can take off your dress."

Castiel sat and turned away, giving Dean easy access to the zipper that bisected his back. Any doubts Dean might've harbored about this being what he wanted disappeared as he undid the zipper, unwrapping Castiel's skin like a gift. Before the dress was even off he found himself leaning forward to kiss his neck and snake his hands around the front to play with Castiel's chest. The knight errant in Dean couldn't keep himself from kissing up to Castiel's ear. "You sure about this? It can't change anything."

"I'm making the same decision you are, Dean. For the same reasons. Now lie on your back."

Dean was more than happy to comply. He watched with avid interest as Castiel removed the rest of his clothes but left his make-up intact. He was at the tender mercy of The Ice Queen now.

Before he could even be asked, Dean moved his legs aside to give Cas room. Cas started out by lavishing attention on Dean's chest and stomach before finally moving lower. After letting out some indecent moans Dean found the ability to speak in words. "You sure you don't want me doing this to you first?"

Castiel looked up from his work, his eyes heavy-lidded but intense. "Dean, for the last time stop worrying about me." He returned to his job with renewed zeal, so much so Dean didn't notice the finger at his hole before it had slid in. He gripped the armrest of the bench above his head.

"Okay?" Castiel looked down at him with such evident concern he could've suggested anything and Dean would've trusted him. He nodded and hoped it spoke volumes.

The second finger caused more of a burn, more of the strange sense of fullness. Dean willed himself to not react this time, instead breathing slowly and carding Castiel's hair with one hand. The other still clutched at the armrest as if it were his anchor to the world. "Come on, Cas. Do it."

But Cas would not be rushed. He moved his fingers until he found the sweet spot that made Dean arch his back like a puppet whose strings had been pulled. Cas used his free hand to roam over Dean's hips and chest, holding him in place as much as Dean needed.

Then Castiel reached for Dean's legs and positioned them against his shoulders. "You can still tell me to stop, Dean."

Dean stared up at him. Tell Cas to stop? He'd never had that power. "_Please, Cas_."

Apparently that's what Cas had been needing to hear. He positioned himself just so and pushed forward. And Dean let out a moan that probably could've been heard in Koreatown.

Footsteps outside the door caused Castiel's eyes to widen in shock. He placed a hand over Dean's mouth, just to be safe. With the other, he held Dean in place by the hips. Dean took the opportunity to draw in Castiel's fingers and suck them down to the knuckle. He was rewarded by the sight of Castiel's eyes rolling back to savor it. Dean's hand reached out on instinct and Cas caught it in his free hand and laced their fingers.

Dean waited for the burn to subside, which it did. What was left was an amazing feeling of fullness. He was holding Cas inside himself and, to be honest, it was awesome. When Dean recovered enough to open his eyes he saw Castiel taking breaths that made his bare chest heave with each one. Dean could tell he was waiting for something. "Cas-"

"Move when you're ready."

Dean waited a few moments, just taking it in. If he didn't move soon he was going to start thinking about the cab ride back, going to bed alone, waking up alone, ad infinitum, until Castiel was gone forever and Dean was just plain gone. He shifted his hips and ground himself back into the moment.

Cas matched his movements. Slowly at first, but then he found just the right angle to set Dean off, the angle that made Dean clench their hands together until his knuckles went white. The thought flashed through Dean's mind unbidden that this was the last time he'd have with Cas. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, desperate to drink it in.

Cas still wore his gold wire halo like it was a part of him. Everything about Cas was so perfect and so above Dean's caste it killed him. And from the way Dean could feel his muscles clench, his feet curling up, it was killing him very, very quickly. With only the bench to support him his arms had no brace, nowhere to turn. It was like climaxing in free-fall. Only Castiel held him together.

When Castiel pulled his slick hand from Dean's mouth and set to work jerking him off Dean knew he was done. The idea that it was moments away from being over, and he and Cas along with it, chilled his enthusiasm enough to delay the end but it was still a forgone conclusion. He reached a hand back to the armrest over his head to brace himself for the inevitable and lowered his legs from where they'd been flush with Castiel's shoulders and wrapped them around his partner. "Cas…" he was desperate to say everything and nothing at once.

Cas leaned over him now. He was covered in a sheen of sweet, his voice raw. "It's alright, Dean." He placed both hands on Dean's hips, pinning him in place. With that he leaned in to offer a kiss. "Let go."

Dean held Castiel's shoulder in a bruising grip. He trusted Cas. He even trusted enough to let go… After more fast thrusts the moment ricocheted through him like lightning in the blood. _"Cas, Cas…"_ His last memory was of Castiel calling his name, falling with him. He never wanted to reach the ground.

.

* * *

.

When Dean came to again he was still naked on the long, padded bench in Micky's dressing room but a blanket had been wrapped around his sleeping form. Castiel sat nearby on the floor, dressed in his street clothes, reading a book by the soft light of the mirrors.

Dean caught sight of the familiar blue book. "You still on that one? Thought you'd be done by now."

Castiel looked up at Dean and smiled. "I finished it last year, I just like to dip into it again from time to time. I suppose it's more of a security blanket than anything." He got up on his knees and kissed Dean awake. "Good morning."

Dean sat up. "Did I sleep that long?"

"Only a few hours. I can call for our cabs now."

Dean stretched his arms out above him. "Thanks." He noticed his clothes were now folded into a tidy pile on the dressing room table. "You know you're going to make some guy very happy, right?" Dean reached for his clothes. He'd meant it as a joke but Castiel only smiled up from the floor in a way that somehow made Dean just feel like he'd just told him 'Don't worry, you can always get another puppy.' It gave Dean the impression this would be the morning he would understand where the term 'walk of shame' came from.

He set a land-speed record for getting dressed that did nothing to quell the deafening silence. After he had his act together Cas led him out to the alley behind the club.

"I'll wait with you, if you like. Unless that would be a bad idea…"

Dean looked up and down the street. It was raining, the sort of apathetic LA drizzle that felt like nothing but seemed to scare everyone inside just the same. "You might as well stay. We're the only ones too dumb to be out in the rain at this hour."

Castiel smiled and leaned back up against the wall. "You have a point." He stared at Dean.

Dean stared back. The only sound was the rain. The only smell that of wet cement.

It wasn't that Dean wasn't trying to think of something to say. He was. When he thought he'd finally thought of something he looked up to Cas again.

Cas shook his head before Dean could speak. "Don't. We both knew what this was." Cas hadn't dressed for the weather. After ten minutes of waiting for their cabs his red t-shirt had been soaked through. He shivered.

Dean stepped in close. He folded Castiel into arms and wrapped part of his leather jacket over him. He knew in that moment this would be the last thing he could do for Cas. He kissed his ear, in part to keep it warm. He wanted to say 'thank you' or 'you're amazing' or even 'we can still run off to Mexico you know,' but it all sounded hollow and worthless in Dean's head. He couldn't begin to guess how pointless it would sound out loud.

Their cabs came soon after. Dean couldn't think of anything that could possibly fix the situation, save perhaps for getting the fuck out of Castiel's life and letting him move the fuck on.

He climbed into his cab, gave the address to the driver, and tried to remind himself he'd just had some of the most mind-blowing sex of his life. Usually that would make him happy. Hell, it'd usually make him an over-the-moon pain in the ass to be around.

Usually.

This time it just made Dean quiet. By the time he got back home and showered the booty call sex off his body he'd just about convinced himself everything was finished. He was finally free, relieved to get back to the random hook-ups and endless Chinese take-out of the life that chose him as much as he chose it. He was in a decent place to be, if not a good one. It was settled. He really believed it was enough.

Until he passed a mirror and wondered why his eyes were rimmed in gold.

.

* * *

.

The morning of the last day on job that ate Dean's life for over a month dawned clear and hot. It was the kind of heat that played tricks with your vision, making you think someone must have turned up the lights as well as the heat. The recent drizzle had to be hosed off the finished house as Los Angeles rains came black with smog, but they left the air so clear in their wake Dean could almost believe he lived in the California that you can only see in movies. Everything was splashed with an extra coat of color and sunlight. No one makes movies about the usual days, the days when you can't see one side of the valley from the other.

Gabe, beer in hand, nodded to Dean as they assembled to tape the reveal. He and Castiel were going to walk through the house as if for the first time, offering 'oohs' and 'ahs' where appropriate. It was usually a fun day of work, to be honest. It certainly didn't qualify as work by any usual construction company standards. Cable reality show fame really could be a sweet gig.

If you came by it honestly…

Dean tucked in the flannel shirt their wardrobe approvals person picked out for the final scene (which in this heat should've qualified as talent abuse). He'd just finished when Castiel approached. Dean could only stare.

He looked happy. _Happy we're getting out of his face, most likely_. Dean offered a curt nod before anything dramatic wound up happening for all to see. He kept his eyes on the ground. "Hiya, Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

That voice again. That voice was so unfair. It was perfect and unfair and _I should've kidnapped you when I had the chance. _

Castiel wouldn't have needed any other-worldly mojo to read Dean's conflicted thoughts. Dean knew he was a far cry from 'casual' at the moment. But that was what the day, the job, and his entire life demanded at the moment and that is what he would be.

He was sure of this right up until the point Castiel reached out and tapped his nose.

Okay. Awkward. "What was that?"

With not a spec of guile on his face, Castiel held up one hand, his thumb between two fingers. "I believe I have your nose."

Gabe just snickered. Dean, on the other hand, began to laugh the kind of laugh that worked its way up from your socks. Suddenly, Dean's shitty world was sunny again. "Dammit, Cas! Don't ever change, okay?"

Castiel blushed and offered Dean a small smile. "I promise."

With that, Sam bounded up and they started the show…

.

* * *

.

After Dean had all his emo forced out of him through laughter - like some sort of Heimlich maneuver for man pain – the rest of the day flowed smoothly and far too fast. Not even the smug presence of Zachariah hovering by the director all day could put a damper on his last day with Castiel. Before he knew it, he and Castiel were standing off to the side watching Sam and Jesse tape their engagement scene.

Dean couldn't help but sneak looks over Castiel's way. "You look happy."

"I'm happy all the days I get to see you, Dean."

_Yup, still doesn't defend himself around me. Maybe I got though this without giving him a reason to. _Dean didn't believe it, but with the sun shining down on a day where the mountains were green and not their usual grey and the sky was actually blue, he didn't disbelieve it either. Hell, even the birds were singing again. Just as he'd expected, they reminded him of Cas.

Castiel continued. "You look happy too, Dean."

Dean threw back more of his beer and grinned. "Yeah, well, my brother's getting fake engaged today. Makes it hard not to be real happy." Dean bent over to his tool kit and removed a bag that read The Last Bookstore. "Don't make a big deal out of it or anything, but I got you something."

Castiel raised an eyebrow at this. It alone was enough to make Dean flinch.

"Our cover is we're friends, right? So here. Merry early Christmas or something."

Castiel opened the bag. "The Little Prince?"

Dean grinned. "It's not just a kids book. You'll like it."

"I'm sure I will, Dean."

Dean noticed he was still not tired of hearing Castiel say his name. And for someone with as formal a speech pattern as Castiel had that said something. "The first time I saw you I just knew I knew you from somewhere. It's 'cause you reminded me of this."

Castiel put the bag down and picked up his beer. "The first time I saw you was on television. You seemed like a force of nature."

"Yeah? Where'd you get that idea?"

"It was your sense of humor, I think. You were so relaxed, so... yourself. I don't think I'd realized until that moment how much I changed myself for others. Seeing you laugh and flirt and howl out your car window… You looked so free. I couldn't even imagine what that felt like at the time." He blushed. "You make freedom look very appealing, Dean Winchester."

Dean replayed those last words in his head once. Twice. Again he had the feeling of something dropping through him from a great and gruesome height.

"Hey, Cas, put down your beer a minute."

Castiel put down his drink and faced Dean as if following his command was the most natural thing in the world. His pure trust was the last thing to twig Dean's conscience before he finally weighted the bag and shoved it off the bridge with both hands.

Dean grabbed Cas and kissed him like his life depended on it.

Cas pulled back alarmed – but not far. When Dean saw that he knew he was safe to lean in close again. "You're worth this, you hear me? You. Are. Worth. This. If I ever make you doubt that again you need to punch me in the face. You got that?"

Castiel's eyes lit up with fearful hope like a kid who'd just discovered it was Christmas. Like he'd discovered it was every Christmas. "Yes, I think so."

"Good." He pulled Cas in tight and reminded himself this time he wouldn't have to let go.

With that, Dean looked up to see everyone on the crew staring. Gabe was, God help us all, cheering and Sam and Jess were, of course, joining in. Becky looked like she would too as soon as air started moving in and out of her lungs again. Dean had no idea what to do next, so he did the only thing he could think of. He took Castiel by the hand and led him over to Sam and Jesse.

"Jesse, this is Cas. He's mine."

Jessie smiled. "He's you're what?"

Castiel blushed. "We're still working on that." He offered his hand. "Lovely to meet you. Congratulations on the engagement."

"Yeah, congrats to you too," Sam offered. It was the last thing Dean heard until he was jumped from behind by a flying Gabriel-shaped monster.

"I knew it! I totally called this!"

Dean somehow couldn't manage to shake him. "Bitch, get off."

Gabriel slid down Dean's back in a surprisingly controlled manner. "Fine. But I totally called this! You are all my puppets! Bow to your mast-"

"DEAN!"

Zachariah had the mother of all bitchfaces on. It was the sort of thing that in biblical times would've reduced someone to salt. "What did I tell you?"

Dean could actually feel everyone close ranks to protect him from Zachariah, or possibly from the attempted manslaughter charge Dean might've been about to incur. Instead, Dean only threw an arm around Castiel. He thought of all the choice things he could say, but his promise to Sammy somehow clawed its way to the forefront of his thoughts. "Deal with it."

What the hell; he could tell the guy plenty more after he was fired.

Zachariah stormed off, cell phone already in hand. No doubt he had a crack legal team kept chained in his basement for just such occasions. It would've been funny – scratch that, it would've been _hi-freakin'-larious_ - if it weren't for the concern writ large on Castiel's face.

Dean pulled him aside. "Don't worry about that. Just you and me, that's all I need."

Castiel nodded. "Okay. The same goes for me too, Dean. And I won't let you face this alone. I hope you understand that."

"I know."

Dean pulled Cas in for a quick 'I Just Tanked My Job For You' hug. When he pulled back it was only far enough to watch Castiel's reaction to a very important question.

"Have you ever been to Mexico?"

Later, when packing up for the day, Dean found Cas standing by his toolkit. As Dean bent low to pick it up an idea seized him. Throwing an arm out, he swept up Castiel and threw him over his shoulder.

"Hey, Gabe! We're packing up now. Mind if I take this?"

Gabe gave the universal hand signal for 'turn around.' Dean obliged.

Whatever whispered conversation took place must have been to Gabe's satisfaction. "Sure. Just remember: you break it, you bought it."

Dean used his free hand to offer a wave. "Will do. Thanks."

Making his way in the late afternoon sun to the Impala, Castiel's laughter followed behind him like a comet tail.

.

* * *

.

Castiel reached out to place a supportive hand on Dean's arm as they sat waiting inside Zach's dungeon. Or at least that's what Dean called it anyway.

"I don't care if it's on the sixth floor, it's still a dungeon. I'm surprised the guy doesn't actually live under a rock."

Castiel gave him a look for that. "Don't be ridiculous, Dean. Everyone knows trolls live under bridges."

Dean looked up at him and laughed. He smiled now when he looked at Cas. Big, goofy Dean smiles. The kind Castiel had seen on his show and had started to believe were a product of special effects.

The glass door to the room opened. "Excuse me, but if you two could keep your filthy displays to yourself." Yup, same old Zach. His heart had not grown three sizes that day.

Cas could see a protective rage shoot across Dean's face. Dean was just about to stand (which could lead nowhere good) when Cas spoke up. "Excuse me, Mr. Zachariah, but as someone from a very sheltered background I have to tell you if you think that was a disgusting display you really ought to get out more."

He could feel Dean's anger dissipate into humor again. "What he said."

Zach opened his mouth, no doubt to start a very loud and vociferous firing process, when Becky stepped in behind him. "Oh, good, you're all here."

Zachariah looked so surprised to see her he nearly didn't look enraged for a second. "Excuse me, Miss Rosen, but on behalf of our network, our great nation, and our CEO Sir Alexander Baumgarten I'm about to terminate one of these people," he looked back to Dean "with extreme prejudice."

Becky only grinned. "Oh, that's so cute that you call him Sir! I just call him dad."

Zachariah paled. "What?"

_What?_

Castiel shot a look to Dean.

Dean's response was a clear but silent '_Dude, I had no idea!_'

Becky smiled and sat on Zachariah's desk. "He offered me an assistant producing job straight off but I told him I wanted to learn how things really worked around here. Even went under my mother's maiden name so no one would catch me. Good thing I did, too. Gave me a chance to find out about some very interesting clauses you added to our standard talent contract, Zach."

Castiel couldn't be sure what gave him this impression, but he could've sworn she'd just somehow said the name Zach like it rhymed with Dick.

Zachariah straightened his already straight tie and tried to make himself appear taller. "Young lady…"

Castiel shrank down in his seat. He wasn't sure what would happen after Godzilla called Mothra 'Young lady,' but he knew it couldn't be good.

Zachariah continued. "I am far more familiar with what Sir Baumgarten wants for his network than you are."

Becky didn't appear phased. "Care to bet your job on that?" She hopped off his desk and bore down on him. "You've been taking my father's name in vain for far too long, Zachariah. It stops now. Take the talent off your leash and blind copy me and my father on every one of your apologetic emails. Do it on my say so or do it on your boss's say so. And remember this is us being NICE."

Zachariah relaxed into a grin. "I only have one boss, Becky."

At that, the phone on his desk rang.

Becky made for the door. "I know. That's him now. Oh, and tell him Thanksgiving is at my place this year." She turned and looked back to Cas and Dean. "You two, hallway, now."

Castiel knew Dean was as stunned as he was, and that he wasn't being in any way facetious when he snapped "Yes, ma'am!"

Castiel had barely stepped into the hall before Becky shoved a packet into his hands. "What's this?"

Becky grinned. "A pitch proposal for a new show called 'Dean Can Cook.' I got the idea from watching you try to explain eggs to him the other day. Dean's already got a built in audience here and I've done some research on you. Did you know you had a huge fan club?"

Dean grinned and gave him what Castiel was certain was a 'You sly dog!' look. "I can neither confirm nor deny that."

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. After the little stunt with the contracts ol' Zach will owe us at least a pilot. I figured we could make it a Thanksgiving episode and air it as a test if it scores well. After that, something for Christmas, something for New Year's, and if the ratings are there you're in."

Castiel looked down to the proposal in his hands and then back to Becky. "'Dean Can Cook?' Are you sure we're not overselling this?"

It took a second for Dean to realize he'd just been insulted. "Hey!"

She pointed to a paragraph titled 'The Appeal.' "That's the whole point. Most cooking shows today are so elaborate or specialized. We're going for the market of people learning the basics for the first time. Each show would include a recipe at your level and one or two at Dean's. I was thinking your first episode could involve crème brûlée."

Dean looked up from his copy of the proposal. "Crème brûlée? Seriously?"

"You make it with a flame thrower" Castiel explained on instinct.

Dean's eyebrows lifted, impressed. "I'm in."

Castiel looked over Becky's shoulder at Dean. "Are you sure about this?"

"If it keeps you in LA I can be Julia fucking Child if need be."

Becky chimed in. "It's just the pilot you'd be signing up for now. The contract is in there; show it to your agent and have him get back to us. I have to go line up a kitchen set and some writers." She dashed off, pausing only once at the elevator to look back. "Call me!" She accompanied this with the phone-hand-by-the-ears gesture.

Castiel repeated it on some weird instinct. He then looked up at Dean. "I need an agent?"

"You have an agent. My guy Bobby will sort you out. He's an old guy, but he's seen every trick and pulled half of them himself."

This was all happening fast. Castiel looked back down at the rather formal looking proposal. "Is this really happening?"

With Becky gone, Dean stepped in close to Castiel and tipped his head up to look into his eyes. "Yeah, it is. Because of you."

Dean kissed him, and after let his head rest against Castiel's. "Haven't you heard? Good things do happen, Cas."

Castiel closed his eyes and decided in that moment to go with it, the show, Dean, Los Angeles, whatever the world put in front of him.

Because every now and then they do.

.

.

.

**A/N:** _All locations described in this story are real: The Last Bookstore, The Abbey, Micky's, the 24/7 Big Boy's in either Toluca Lake or Burbank (depending on where you draw the line), Everday Music, even the skating rink, Iceland. The women who fictionally run Micky's in this story and their history is based on the book Gay Bar about gay bars in Los Angeles in the 1950s, by Helen Branson and Will Fellows. _

_Thank you for the comments and follows. If someone could maybe give this a shoutout on Tumblr, you'd make my week. The Supernatural fandom is one of the most supportive I've ever seen. I hope to stick around here a long time. _


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